


Becoming an Omega

by Elphen



Series: The (in)significance of gender [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Irene Adler, Alpha Moriarty, Alpha Mycroft, Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Beta John, Beta Lestrade, Bonding, Canon Divergence - The Great Game, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Moriarty/John noncon, Omega John, Omega Verse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Scenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2017-12-13 18:50:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 58,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elphen/pseuds/Elphen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where your second gender is determined by bloodtype and most children are born from Alpha-Omega couples, John, who was born a Beta, is captured by Moriarty at the end of the Great Game. Before the pool-incident he is injected with a hormone-laced chemical that, unknown to him, overrides and changes his bloodtype, causing him to turn slowly into an Omega. After surviving the incident, things starts changing between John and Alpha Sherlock, though neither knows just how much and what the consequences of John becoming torn between his Beta mind and his new Omega body might be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I never thought I'd do an Omega-verse fic, but then this idea popped into my head and just wouldn't leave. I eventually caved, did a lot of thinking and jotting down ideas and came up with this, at the end of it. I haven't gone with word-perfect accuracy of the episodes, so please don't point that out, please.  
> No britpickers or betas (;)), mistakes are all mine.

“Welcome, Johnny boy. So pleased you could spare the time to join us.”

Groaning vaguely, John slowly opened his eyes, though he regretted it as soon as the light started to hurt his pupils. He was sprawled on a very uncomfortable chair, though he surprisingly wasn’t bound. Though as he came around ever so slowly, he could feel the blood in his body still pumping around the sedative he’d been drugged with, rendering his limbs sluggish and mostly unresponsive. His head was surprisingly clear, however.

When he was able to see despite the bright light around him, he focused on the man standing in front of him, though he’d really rather not. He was familiar, with his pale skin and dark features, especially those eyes that seemed like two black holes and that strange smile that was so hard to properly define, but it took a moment for the doctor to pin it down in his dazed state.

“Jim. Molly’s boyfriend.” His voice sounded raspy and as sluggish as his limbs felt.

The smile grew, turning only creepier as it did so. “Ah, you remembered. But then you’ve always been the one to pick up on the _trivialities_ that the dear detective deems to be underneath him, haven’t you?” The voice seemed to echo ever so slightly in the room and John vaguely, distractedly wondered where they were.

The doctor forewent to comment as there really wasn’t any need or expectation for him to do so. The man – Jim – leaned closer; close enough for his nose to brush the drugged man’s throat, making no secret of his sniffing out John’s scent and letting his own scent waft in turn.

The former soldier would have frozen if his limbs had still been under his control. The scent his nose was picking up was without question Alpha, though there was something in the undercurrent of it that seemed off somehow. Logically John knew he wasn’t in any danger, at least sexually, what with him not being an Omega, but merely a Beta. That didn’t exclude an Alpha from being potentially dangerous to Betas, as well as Omegas, in every other way, especially when there was, like in this one, a mad streak glinting dangerously in the eyes.

“Arh, the unmistakable _dull_ smell of a Beta,” was practically purred into his ear, the tone of voice contrasting sharply with the harshness of the spoken words. That the breath was moist as it ghosted over his skin and made him shiver, he tried to ignore. “Let’s see if we can’t change that, eh? Really, Johnny boy, Betas have no fun, no fun at all, and you deserve some fun, don’t you?” A finger that was very strangely soft for being a man’s trailed over his cheek.

“What..what are you...on about?” John slurred, trying to sound angered and annoyed and cursing his voice for ruining it by sounding so sluggish.

He was rewarded with yet another creepy, small smile as the man pulled away and took a step back that never seemed to reach those dark, mad orbs. “Oh, dear. This won’t do. This won’t do at all. I knew you were dull, but I didn’t think the drugs would affect your brain as well. But then you were always one to think with your muscles, weren’t you?” Jim made a tutting noise and shook his head, seemingly amused. Then his face twisted.” That is just not GOOD ENOUGH!” he suddenly bellowed.

John stared. Mad; the man was clearly stark raving mad and...then something clicked. “Moriarty,” he breathed, still sounding as if he’d got a potato stuck in his throat.

That seemed to please the black-haired man and he calmed down once more, at least somewhat. ”Well, well. Took you long enough, Johnny boy, but perhaps you could have a silver star for effort, hm? Honestly, what does Sherlock see in you?” Suddenly he was back in the doctor’s personal space, face to face and one hand sliding up under several layers of clothes, smoothing along soft skin. “Oh, but I forget; you have other qualities that are quite stellar, though he doesn’t acknowledge them, does he?” He sniffed once more. ”How about we do something that will make him notice, hm?”

Before the doctor could do more than wrinkle his forehead, he felt the hand that wasn’t caressing the skin under his shirt sliding the needle of a syringe into the main vein on his right wrist, depositing a large amount of _something_ into his bloodstream. Illogically, it felt like whatever had been shot into him was making his veins not only pump furiously, but actually _expand_ and he groaned, however weakly due to the drugs still in his body, as the pain slowly grew and grew, being carried further through his systems as the injected liquid got pumped through. Then the syringe was removed, but his relief was brief as another one was placed against his wrist, ready to plunge in again.

“There, there, Johnny boy. You’re doing so well. One more little prick and you’ll be all done,” Jim whispered into his ear, the sing-song mockery making the usually caring words sound sick. The second needle penetrated and John would have screamed if he had the energy, the feeling of expansion and pain increasing tenfold.

“Now, don’t be sick, would you? I’d hate to have to change suit.” He paused as he pulled the needle out again, stepping away and letting the syringe clatter to the ground. “But no, you wouldn’t, would you? John is a good little soldier, after all. Do you know, the more I think of it, the more I am pleased that it was you he chose. A strong-minded, loyal Beta – B-negative, too, would you believe? Oh, you couldn’t have been more ideal!”

“What...have you...done...to me?” John gritted through teeth clamped tightly shut in pain.

“Oh, nothing, really just a little hormonal stimulant and...other things. Oh, but I know what you’re going to say; ‘Betas don’t respond to hormonal stimulant, as they have so few themselves’. But you see, Johnny boy, that is where you’re wroo-oong!” He tilted his head back and forth as he spoke the last sentence, the sing-song quality back in his voice. “Especially when your Rh negative status makes it recessive, all you need is something to override the whole...ah, you naughty thing. You almost made me tell you and that would hardly be any fun. Now get up. Your body should have sufficiently dealt with enough of the sedatives for you to be able to stand. After all, we need to get you ready and all dressed up for when your dear Alpha turns up and we are almost out of time.”

The doctor was grabbed from behind and hauled upright, limbs still too unresponsive to put up much of a fight.

Internally John spluttered at Sherlock being referred to as _his_ Alpha. The detective wasn’t anyone’s, least of all John’s. He had made it very clear over the course of their acquaintance and subsequent friendship that he had no interest in anyone, sexually and especially not emotionally. He had made derogatory comments about every single client that had a case involving something about their bondmate or something to do with heats. It was all transport and those poor, idiotic simpletons getting caught in biology were to be scorned, if not openly laughed at. That John fancied him even just a tiny bit was something he kept very well hidden; at least, as well as it was possible for him to do when the object of his affection was the world’s only consulting detective genius. Apart from the whole transport thing, what did a worn out, broken, almost middle-aged ex-Army doctor with a psychosomatic limp and a gunshot wound to the shoulder that was also a mere Beta have to offer?

He blinked again and found that in his mental absence he’d been dressed in a Semtex vest and had Moriarty back in his face, expression twisted into something strange between amusement and mad anger. “None of that, _doctor_. I want you to be present mentally – well, as much as such a dull little pet can be – for this thing. But then, that little concoction you’ve got running through your bloodstream should not only keep you in pain and present in the here and now, though you won’t show it, will you?  No – but I look very much forward to seeing how non-dull you’ll become!” He almost clapped his hands as he retreated once more.

“Then...if this thing is...supposed to make me...non-dull, then why...have you covered me...in explosives?” John asked, taking some solace in that his voice was at least returning to his control. He only hoped the same would be the case for the rest of his body, even if it would be more than foolish to try and run in his current predicament.

The consulting criminal looked actually pleased. “Well done, I have to say; not bad at all. We’re gonna play a little game, Johnny – the finale to the game I’ve been playing with Sherlock for the past few days, though I have to say he’s been slightly disappointing, and I want to see what he’s gonna do when his little... _pet,_ ” the word was spat, mood as stable as an oscillating yo-yo,” turns out to be the next suicide-bomber. We might even play a little with my identity, who knows?” He smiled; all madness and no humour.”The thing is, though, that whatever I decide to do, you will go along with it, as a good soldier. Otherwise you won’t even get to see your precious Alpha again. What happens after that...well, we’ll see, won’t we?” The smile turned into an even madder grin. “In any case, I’m going to have _fun_!”

He started walking away, snapping his fingers as he walked. “Come along now, Johnny boy. We’re late for a very important date.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After surviving the pool-incident, John struggles with finding out what exactly he has been drugged with, unaware of the changes it is already causing to those around him. Sherlock...starts to react.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow...*is absolutely flabberghasted*...WOW! This amount of response has literally been staggering, I am so overwhelmed. I honestly expected maybe 10 kudos and a comment or two. Now look at it! Guys, you are *amazing*, thank you! You make this even more of a joy.
> 
> I really hope I can live up to all this with this chapter (though I fully expect to crash and burn).
> 
> No betas or britpickers, mistakes, plotholes and the like are all my fault

All things considered, John supposed the whole thing could have gone much worse. They got away alive, first and foremost, with all their limbs attached. Knowing Moriarty and how ‘oh, so changeable’ he claimed to be – and after their ‘show-down’ at the pool, not to mention his little closer encounter with the man leading up to that the doctor more than believed him – it was a wonder they’d gotten off so relatively scot-free. Well, Sherlock had, at least. John wasn’t so sure whether that applied to him as well.

In the whole debacle with the two consulting geniuses facing off for the first time, the gun, the explosives and the small dots indicating the snipers, the former soldier had actually forgotten that he’d been injected with some sort of concoction, especially when he’d grabbed the madman in an attempt to save Sherlock and the adrenaline had been overpowering everything else. As soon as the dark-haired man had waltzed out and the Alpha had divested him of the Semtex, however, John had felt the adrenaline drain away and the pain in his veins coming back with a vengeance, leaving him staggering and eventually sliding down against the nearest changing stall. Of course, the looks of panic, hurt, relief and...something else that he’d seen flittering across his flatmate’s face hadn’t helped much, either, if he was being totally honest with himself. Nor had rather close contact with a body pouring out scent as a reaction to a stressful situation dealt with as the Alpha had ripped the explosives off him, when he came to think about it.

He’d mostly tried to block out what had happened after Moriarty had sauntered back into the pool area, which in turn inevitably left him plenty of opportunity to dwell on that thoroughly confusing, not to mention disturbing time leading up to it. What exactly had he been injected with? Hormones, yes, but other than that? He had trouble pinpointing what exactly it was, but there was something just under his skin that had left him feeling decidedly...off.

It could be anything – poison, even, though injected like that straight into the blood almost any type of poison should not take very long to take effect and then he’d have been a quivering corpse long before they’d gotten out of the pool.

So probably not poison or anything else actually hazardous as such, in so far as fatality went, anyway. There was no doubt that it had been something, though, and he both dreaded not knowing what it could be and finding out what it might be. Nothing the madman Moriarty could come up with would actually surprise him and he had said that it was in an effort to make the doctor not dull. He’d also mentioned something about his being a Beta and then his blood type, which was of course connected, but what it had to do with being none-dull he had absolutely no clue.

John rubbed his temples, sitting slumped in his customary chair in the living room back at 221b, and tried to not only remember more clearly what the consulting criminal had said, most likely quite deliberately, but also to somehow connect the dots and figure out what exactly he’d been doped with, especially for it to continue to affect him days afterwards. Not being Sherlock Holmes himself, however, he was drawing a blank.

Of course he could just ask Sherlock, but he knew, somehow, that just wasn’t an option. Not because he feared that he’d be turned into an experiment as the detective tried working out exactly what it was and what it was doing to his system, trying every single thing he could think of without considering...oh, well, perhaps he did fear it just a little bit. After all, the alpha was always having a hard time understanding where the limit of acceptability ought to be. But it had more to do with the fact that he was actually somewhat ashamed that it had happened. Being kidnapped and strapped with explosives, not to mention having to watch the betrayal flicker over Sherlock’s face when he’d first stepped out into his line of sight had been more than enough of a humiliation without having the fact that he’d been drugged with something added to the list.

So John struggled with figuring out what it could be all on his own. He spent hours where he was being ignored by his flatmate anyway pouring over his old textbooks and some new articles in an effort to get to the bottom of it, but he drew a blank every single time, much to his frustration and Sherlock’s apparent amusement the few times he noticed, though he strangely never questioned what it was his blogger was up to.

The thing was that he didn’t _feel_ any different. His heart hadn’t started irregular beatings apart from what it did in correspondence to what Sherlock got up to in their not quite so normal lives; his muscles hadn’t seized up and paralyzed him or anything like that. He hadn’t even started sprouting antlers or tiger stripes, which would be downright ridiculous, not to mention impossible, but then you had to remember who had done it to him. He wouldn’t put _anything_ past that madman, including managing the impossible. But apart from being somewhat more sensitive mood-wise, which he just put down to the time of year, the only thing that he had noticed happening body-wise was an increase in his skin sensitivity and his sexual appetite and he chalked both of those up to being around Sherlock and his Alpha pheromones too long.

Even as a Beta, he wasn’t immune to the cocktail of pheromones Alphas let out subconsciously, though at the most they should have only had the effect of making him deferential to their superiors as befitted a proper Beta – the Alphas led society and the Omegas provided the nurture and the continued existence of the race while the Betas were the middle men, the mules. Though John could never have been considered a proper Beta – his military career of actually rising to a rank some Alphas didn’t reach alone was a rather clear example of that – he should not be reacting as he was, far from it, in fact. After realizing this and some contemplation as he sat in the sofa besides, he concluded that that must be due to his feelings for the consulting detective. Stupid feelings, of course, and ones very much unlike to be reciprocated, but not any he could or intended to do much about.

In the end, as his research turned up nothing again and again and no apparent side effects showed up, John mentally shrugged and left it alone. The madman known as Jim Moriarty had been playing with him; that was probably all it was and he pushed it from his mind until Sherlock questioned him about it a month or two later, one dreary afternoon of boredom and experiments.

“John?”

“Yes, Sherlock?” he countered as he stood hunched in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil.

“Why’d you stop?”

“You’re gonna have to be a little more specific than that, you know. I stop doing stuff all the time. See, now the kettle’s boiled, so I’ve stopped waiting for it.”

With a rather long-suffering, deeply annoyed sigh, the Alpha twisted his body around rather violently where he lay on the sofa so that he now lay on his back instead of on his side facing the wall, as was his usual position whenever he was in a sulk of boredom.

“Do stop trying to be obtuse and thereby being tedious, John. It’s grating and it’s wholly unnecessary on your part, even being a Beta,” the curly-haired man drawled.

The doctor didn’t even turn around. “You know, I believe you actually managed to somehow give me a compliment. Even if it was a rather backhanded one, at that, I’ll take what I can get.” He fished out the teabags as they finished steeping in the mugs, finished the ritual by adding appropriate amounts of sugar and milk and walked into the mess they called a living room to put one mug on the table in front of Sherlock.

When he tried to pull back from having sat the mug down, however, his wrist was caught by and gripped ever so tightly in long, somewhat bony fingers. He looked up from the mug to find pale, multi-coloured eyes staring back at him, indecipherable expressions in their depths. “Sherlock, let go. I don’t know what thing that I’ve stopped doing you’re referring to, but I do know that my balance here is off and I’ll topple soon if you don’t let me up.”

The hand let go at that, but only for the time it took John to right himself, gripping even tighter on the second go, the eyes starting to bore virtual holes into him. “You were researching something, spending days on it with no apparent result if the increasing amount of messed up hair was anything to go by and then all of a sudden you were no longer researching at all. Why?”

“I would say ‘you tell me’ except I know you could and would, so why are asking?” He merely received a raised eyebrow in response. “Well, it’s...no, actually I’m not going to tell you. It’s not any of your business and you don’t tell me what you get up to, not even when it’s actually something I _should_ be told.” Strangely, the defiance felt even more wrong than doing so to an Alpha normally did, like the beginnings of an aching itch at the base of his spine.

Continuing on the strange tide, Sherlock actually brought the wrist clasped in his own hand up to his nose and took a deep _sniff_. “You smell...different. Ever since the pool you’ve smelt of something else besides just Beta and I cannot pin down what is different and it’s annoying.”

Trust Sherlock Holmes to take something like that and focus on what affects _him_ , John mused internally with a mix of fondness and sheer exasperated frustration. “Perhaps it’s the chlorine that’s borrowed under my skin and mixed with my scent, who knows?” he tried with a small, hopefully deflecting smile and attempted to yank his hand back, but to no avail.

The detective gave him that special glare to indicate that John was being dull and tedious, but he was putting up with him. He normally didn’t bear dullness quietly, so to receive merely a glare was relatively mild. “Honestly, John, are you trying to annoy me by being obtuse on purpose? That kind of chemical should not cling to your gender-scent...unless...you found a way to mix it with...” his voice drifted off, eyes alight for just a fraction of a second as he considered the possibility before they dulled with the dismissal of it. He rubbed his thumb in light circles over the pulse point in a most likely unconscious move. He then bloody well took another sniff, not having let go at any point, completely ignorant of the effect it was having on the poor doctor; the shiver down his back and the increase in pulse went entirely unnoticed, which John was rather grateful for.

With some effort, the shorter man managed to extract his wrist from the vice-like hold, glaring at the other man. “Yeah, yeah, so I smell funny. That doesn’t excuse you going Alpha on me and bloody well nosing around my damn wrist. I’m a Beta, as you’ve so helpfully pointed out on plenty of occasions; I don’t bloody well need you scenting me, even if it is subconscious on your part.”

“But you’re in my territory,” came the reply, petulance sneaking into the reasonable tone.

“Yes and you’ve invited me in, a long time ago and _without_ bothering to rub your scent onto me, I might add, at any point in the time I’ve lived here. I’m no threat to anyone, Alpha or not; I don’t need the damn protection of your scent or anything of the sort.”

The younger Holmes actually had the audacity to smile, flashing pointed teeth at him. “On the contrary, John; you’re a threat to many Alphas. A Beta that’s hardly ever deferential, who thinks for himself and is not afraid to speak up for himself and others, even if it means going against his betters; a man who has not only gotten a medical degree as a surgeon and been in the military, but actually achieved a proper rank as a captain – I’d hardly call that ‘not a threat’, would you?”

To Sherlock’s surprise, John stared at him with an incredulous, dumbfounded look on his face. “Against my _betters?_ ” he spluttered. “You...you utter arrogant, ignorant _bastard_ , Sherlock! No, really, how can you be such an utter...hypocrite, scorning the macho-bullshit of the Alphas we see as victims and murderers alike and yet being one yourself?!” he hissed, his temper rising. “But ‘oh, no, I’m the great Sherlock Holmes; I don’t have anything to do with pesky emotions and gender-assignations, but oh, by the way, do bow down to my superior Alpha genes and charm’. Bull!” he spat. Then he blinked, surprised at the strength of his own emotional response to what had essentially been a rather mild jab, at least by Sherlock standards.

Perhaps not surprisingly, the detective was looking at him like he’d just grown another head. Maybe he had; he didn’t really care at this point. His anger was slowly ebbing away, leaving him with a strange feeling of guilt over his reaction, as if he ought to drop to his knees and beg to be forgiven, which was downright ridiculous; ludicrous even. There was no way he should be begging for anything and especially not from the younger Holmes, feelings for him or not.

Running a hand through his hair, he blew out a sigh. “That came out a bit strong,” he offered by way of an at least somewhat dignified apology. “Errhm...yeah. I’ll...just go get my own tea.” He turned around.

“You’re quite right.”

The words stopped him in his tracks on the way back to the kitchen and made him turn back to face the other, who had regained his cool lounging on the sofa. Trust Sherlock to throw him on a regular basis. “You what?”

“I do expect people to listen to me and I am arrogant, but that has got nothing to do with being an Alpha, though I admit to using the scents to my advantage. That is just who I am and I don’t appreciate the people who excuse their behaviour with their gender. I would be as I am regardless of my gender and my perception was that you are the same, which is a most interesting thing to see.”

John gawked at the other, clearly having difficulty believing what he was hearing. After a bit, he brought his wrist up to sniff it himself, just to check there wasn’t anything suspicious in his scent that was causing both of them to behave so oddly. Maybe that had been the intention of that injection; to mess with his scent, which would be hormone-driven, after all, and thereby mess with their gender-based reactions to each other. That it had been hormones pumped into his blood could also account for his rather...explosive reaction to something he usually took in his stride, not to mention his suddenly oscillating moods. It did not, however, give a solution for what the other substance had been, nor did it account for the increasing tingling and crawling under his skin, which was creeping lower and beginning to centre more and more at the area around the small of his back.

His thoughts were derailed by having his flatmate suddenly standing in front of him, looking at him intently. Once more his wrist was grabbed and sniffed. “Sherlock, would you cut out sniffing my bloody wrist? Now it’s getting to the point of being creepy. Thank you for actually having put some thought into all of that, my thoughts included, and you’re absolutely right; I’m sorry I overreacted. I appreciate the gesture of this,” he said as he succeeded in wrestling out of the grip, “but I really don’t need anyone else’s scent all over me. It’s bad enough when patients do it.”

The detective looked like his train of thought had just been derailed as well. “What do you mean, patients do it? You’ve let other Alphas touch you at the surgery? Why?” A look of confusion tempered with annoyance flickered across the normal, neutrally bored face of the Alpha as fast a storm cloud on a summer’s day.

“They’re my patients, I have to touch them in order to examine them and well...Alphas tend to be possessive of anything they feel is theirs, including their doctors, lawyers, shrinks and so on. You do it yourself, as you’ve just admitted.” He shrugged.

“But they haven’t before. You would have come home smelling of them all the time and you haven’t. So what’s different?” The dark eyebrows knitted together in the concentration that foreshadowed deductions. “Ah. You have smelt like them, ever so faintly; you wash the places where they touch your skin – and in a display of possessiveness they wouldn’t touch anywhere but skin – but there’s no obvious rawness of skin where you’ve scrubbed on a repeated basis, so it hasn’t been happening for long. Certainly not long enough for you to get irritated and wash with vigour. You could of course be okay with the advances, but that would be out of character. Given the weather you’ve covered up a even more than you usually do for the past month. There’d be less available skin to touch for them without it seeming suspicious, but they still have. So the only conclusion is it has to be because of your changed scent, not anything to do with Alphas staking territory on what clearly isn’t theirs, though I grant you we do tend to do that.” He drew in a breath. “So that brings us back to the question of why your scent is changed.”

“It shouldn’t still amaze me when you do that, but it does,” the doctor said, a smile playing on his lips. “But I don’t know, Sherlock. I hadn’t even noticed – and please don’t comment on that. It might be an excess amount of adrenaline that mixes with the hormones producing scent, producing an interesting scent that people want to sniff and imprint on.”

“Is that what you’ve been researching?” the consulting detective asked and there was slight excitement to trace in his voice.

“No, I just told you, I didn’t know.”

The younger Holmes was suddenly even closer, pressing into him in another blatant disregard for personal space. “We must find out if this is the case – and you must take up that research again. It might prove vital in a future case!”

 John shook his head. “No. Just no. You are _not_ experimenting on me. You’re not and that is final.”

“But John, it could-“

“No!” Again with the explosive reactions, even in comparison to his normal capacity for temper. He definitely needed something to calm him down. “You know, this is too much weird stuff for one night and I’m apparently a little high-strung. I need a drink to calm me down.” He turned and went for his coat.

“Drink is hardly going to do that. You do have a history of temper and for such people excessive amounts of alcohol are only going to accentuate that.”

“One drink is hardly going to ‘accentuate’ anything and I really do feel like knocking back a few.” He looked up to find his flatmate standing in front of him, blocking his way out the door. “Sherlock, you’re blocking my way. Move, please.” The other didn’t move an inch and eventually John gave up trying to get past. “Why the hell...no. You know what, sod this. You’re acting weird, I’m acting weird. For all I know half the patrons down the pub are going to act weird as well. I’m going up to sleep, maybe preceded by a nice wank. Yeah, that sounds like a plan.”

The former army doctor took an absurd pleasure in the slight widening of pale eyes his rather blunt comment about getting off had elicited. With his flatmate acting strangely...possessive, was probably the word, the injection of hormones probably being the cause of his mood going haywire on an increasing level, his scent attracting attention and the itch in the small of his back growing ever more insistent, he reckoned he was at least due a good, indulgent...alone-time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's that for an underwhelming second chapter? Anyway, I honestly expected to have gotten to at least meeting Irene with this chapter, but (and this is gonna sound so conceited) the boys pulled this in another direction entirely. Not that I'm complaining, really, because I at least had a lot of fun writing it.  
> Feedback is treasured and loved, constructive criticism included.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While John and Sherlock still struggle with the changes John's scent is causing, among other things, Irene makes an entrance, much to John's dismay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, just a head's up - this is not going to be canon-faithful, so while I have pulled a few things from ASiB, it does not follow the same plot-line completely.
> 
> Sorry for taking a bit over this - I've suffered a somewhat serious cornea infection and have been unable to write for the past week.  
> That said, *thank you* for even more wonderful feedback, especially all the subscribers and people commenting. It has been overwhelming and lovely. You're amazing, guys, really!
> 
> No betas or britpickers, mistakes and so on are as always mine (though I do blame the infection for some of it ;))

John groaned as he twisted in his sheets and burrowed his head further into the pillow. This was intolerable, not to mention ridiculous. He was horny as hell and hard to boot and yet there was no sign of him actually being able to get off and properly orgasm. Oh, he’d ejaculated once or twice, but it didn’t result in the usual blissed out come-down the afterglow provided, just a sensation of still teetering on the brink along with a strange empty feeling centring in his backside. He was aware that if he ever had sex with Sherlock – and wasn’t _that_ wishful thinking – that he would...well, play the Omega part, but he hadn’t expected to actually feel a _need_ for something up his entrance. Something more than what his fingers could provide, too, as he’d learned when he’d tried to push in and it had looked like he would achieve release for a split-second before it became the same frustrating, teasing teetering.

Eventually he admitted defeat and gave it up as a bad case. He recovered his duvet from where he’d kicked it down to the bottom of the bed in his struggles and burrowed under it, intending at least to get a few solid hours of sleep before another day at the surgery began, the continued empty feeling at his rear be damned. As he slowly came down and could hear something other than his own heartbeat and the noises he’d been making, he became aware of noises outside his door. Nothing loud, just the vague sounds of breathing and feet snuffling. A sense of dread settled in the doctor’s stomach.

“Sherlock? He called out. “Please don’t tell me you’ve been standing outside my door since I came up here.” Silence. A very telling one. John got out of bed. “You have, haven’t you? Do you have any idea how many personal space-rules that violates? Not to mention common decency as well.”

“But John, you’ve been acting weird and your smell keeps changing,” came the level reply through the wood of the door, as if that made it perfectly reasonable for the detective to be standing outside his flatmate’s room where said flatmate was trying to get off. 

The Beta yanked the door open to find an entirely unrepentant Alpha standing incredibly close, having obviously been pressed up against the door until then. “ _I’m_ the one who’s been acting weird? Talk about pot and kettle. It’s not me going around sniffing people and cataloguing their scents...” he trailed off for a moment as realization struck. “It’s another experiment, isn’t it? I’m suddenly smelling different and even though I told you earlier you weren’t allowed to experiment on me because of the scent, you still go ahead and try to see if my having a wank will change this new smell I’m putting out, completely ignoring my.” He let out a sigh. “I should be angry at you, but I’m too tired. I get you like doing experiments, you find new things and anomalies exciting and that you have no regards for social norms, but this...this is...past ‘a bit not good’. Just...just go away before I do something I’ll end up regretting.” With that, he shut the door in the face of the detective, ignoring the strangely hurt expression. He had too much of Sherlock trying to manipulate him to fall for any kind of obvious expression the younger man.

John waited until he heard his flatmate go back down the stairs before he crawled back under the covers. He was surprised at how calmly he had taken that, given his hormone-fuelled outbursts earlier on. He supposed there was something to be said for his experience with Sherlock treating things as experiments and the fact that he was tired. Though he was still horny – and he tried to ignore the fact that his _Alpha flatmate_ that he had feelings for had been listening in on his furtive attempts to reach orgasm – his desire to get some sleep was greater than the desire to get off.

That his sleep was light and riddled with dreams of Alphas with dark hair and pale eyes that scented him in an effort to bond and then changed into an Alpha with dark eyes and dark hair who injected him to make sure he’d be able to bear numerous Alpha children was something he very much tried to forget when he woke up.

 

* * *

 

 

Neither he nor Sherlock mentioned the weirdness of that night afterwards and for a time things seemed to return to what passed for normal for the two of them. The consulting detective stopped his sniffing and his attempts to find out the cause of the change and continued being his arrogant, brilliant self and the doctor was still the not-so-obedient Beta blogger that trailed after him and helped as best he could.

John didn’t bring up the fact that his Alpha patients, male and female, continued to attempt to touch him and leave their scent on him, even though it started bothering him the longer it went on for. However, instead of washing after each time, which the younger Holmes would have noticed, he took to plying the areas with disinfectant and then aftershave. He often came home smelling of disinfectant, in any case, and he hoped that his flatmate would just think the aftershave an attempt to attract female attention.

Sherlock did make a comment the day a few weeks later when John came home from the surgery sporting a couple of rather visible scratch marks on his neck that had occurred when a young male Alpha who’d only just presented a few months earlier had started coming on a bit strong and wouldn’t let go of John’s neck. In the end the Beta had had to lightly punch him in the gut and in the process of stumbling back, the young man had raked his surprisingly long nails across his doctor’s neck. They cleaned up nicely enough, but were still an angry red and very visible indeed.

“You might want to tell that woman of yours not to leave such visible possession marks, especially at working hours. I know you want to keep that job,” came the dry, disinterested comment from the sofa after a cursory glance at his flatmate. “Honestly, Betas should know that their attempts to bond is nothing but fruitless.”

The former soldier took a deep breath. He’d only just come through the front door and already he had to calm himself. “As brilliant as you are, Sherlock, you are lacking some skills in deducing relationships. This is not from Sarah – and a Beta wouldn’t leave marks like that, anyway, we don’t have the possessive nature – and whether I have marks or not is none of your business.”

Pale eyes narrowed from beneath the fringe of dark curls as they focused on the Beta walking into the kitchen to prepare his normal after-work cuppa. “You’re being defensive; that means you’re uncomfortable about something. You’re right; those marks are too deep and too clearly visible for any Beta to feel comfortable with leaving them.” He paused, brows wrinkling for a moment. “Ah. You’ve been assaulted by another Alpha. Obvious.”

The doctor sighed in defeat, but managed a smile as he plunked the teabag into the water. “Just a young patient who’d recently presented. You know how much hormones mess with their perception of things. I’d had an Alpha-Omega couple in before him and he must have smelt that. No harm done, really.”

He turned and fixed the Alpha with a look that dared him to comment further. He had no intention of admitting that the boy had only been the worst of a string of offenders and he wasn’t about to be deduced to bits once more over this or for the younger man to start acting weirdly possessive again.

Luckily, not to mention surprisingly, Sherlock obeyed and with a huff turned his back to the room in his signature sulk-pose. John breathed a sigh of relief and settled down into his own chair with his cup of tea and his laptop. They’d finished a case a few days earlier and he knew he ought to type out the details while they were still clear in his mind. As he booted up the computer, he mused that for all of Sherlock’s faults, both Alpha-related and not, he could be relied upon not to deviate too much from his usual behaviour whatever was thrown at him. In a strange way it was comforting. No matter what they went through, they’d remain fundamentally unchanged in regards to each other and he was determined that his scent-change should not alter that in any way.

It might not be the relationship he wanted from the Alpha detective, but the Beta knew it was the best he was going to get and for what it was, it was as close to perfect as it could be. If he could help it, nothing would be allowed to challenge that. Ever.

 

* * *

 

 

He told himself he wasn’t jealous. Irene Adler was confident, unbonded, self-assured and very clever, not to mention drop-dead gorgeous. He could even admit to himself that if he wasn’t already hopelessly in love with his asexual flatmate he would probably have made a pass at her, regardless of the fact that she was an Alpha and as a Beta he had as much chance as a snowflake – his pass at ‘Anthea’ who was also an Alpha had proven that more than adequately – and she in turn only had eyes for Sherlock, even though he was the same gender as her and therefore should be competition, not potential mate.

The trouble was that Sherlock looked like he was interested in her as well and as more than just an intellectual equal. However, it had to be on a subconscious level, as the consulting detective seemed rather oblivious to the fact that she was sending out waves of scent meant to entice potential mates and that he was doing the same thing, albeit not quite as strongly. It made John gag inwardly and itch to be anywhere else but in the room with them whenever it happened. If he was being honest, he was astonished they hadn’t ravished each other yet.

Though it was rare and fraught with problems, it was far from unheard of that two Alphas – or even two Omegas – fell in love and decided to bond with each other. Betas couldn’t bond with anyone and therefore they almost always ended up in relationships with other Betas. It wasn’t that they _couldn’t_ be in a relationship with either an Alpha or an Omega, but both Alphas and Omegas tended to prefer their own gender when they were not able to get the ‘right’ other gender. Betas were also cursed with low reproductive capabilities, rendering the likelihood of securing anyone other than another Beta virtually non-existent.

John knew all of this and knew that even without the problem that was Irene, his chances of making his flatmate interested were miniscule at best. That she’d triggered a sexual response from what had supposedly been an asexual sociopath was something that plagued the doctor’s mind at night along with his continued horniness and increasingly throbbing backside. Never mind the fact that he continuously ignored her invitations to ‘dinner’ was little consolation. That had most likely more to do with his continued ignorance of the signals they were both sending out as well as what social norms would dictate.

As the case dragged on and she ended up having apparently died, he had to admit to himself that he was jealous. It was hard to ignore the way his heart clenched as pale eyes dimmed and clouded over with what seemed like hurt and the smell of Alpha in the room that got a sour note to it. It was even harder to ignore the lump that settled in his stomach when he realized that he had never elicited such a strong reaction from Sherlock and that he never would.

His efforts to try and tell himself that if he hadn’t been injected with whatever it had been, he never would have smelt fascinating enough for his friend to take an interest that would spark a hope in him and later cause the jealousy were unfortunately nothing but futile. It might have amplified his hormonal responses, but the injection wasn’t to blame for his hurt feelings.

Therefore the fact that he ended up at the abandoned Battersea Power Station with The Woman who wasn’t as dead as she should have been came as a bit of a surprise, to say the least.

“Well, well, well. Doctor Watson, what a pleasant surprise,” she said, smiling as she stood there in front of him, slightly more dishevelled than before her ‘death’, but still very much too alive for his liking. “No Sherlock? Ah, but of course not. He might take me up on the offer for dinner and that just won’t do, will it?” Her smile turned to a knowing smirk and she quirked one trimmed, dark eyebrow.

“I’m not actually gay.” John knew his face was impassive, his voice was calm, bordering on monotone, and his stance gave nothing away either, but for one almost as clever as Sherlock and with a greater skill in reading actual people, there was undoubtedly more than plenty to pick up on.

And indeed, she did. The eyebrow quirked further at the denial and the smirk broadened. “Well, I am, my dear doctor. Yet Sherlock Holmes, asexual sociopath of an arrogant Alpha that he is has managed to...well, look at us. Of course as a Beta you don’t stand a chance of snatching him.” She walked closer to him as she spoke, hips swaying suggestively in a way the doctor knew he should find erotic, but which only elicited an urge to get further away from her, even as he stood his ground. “Who ever heard of a normal, dull Beta managing to make anyone other than another dull Beta fall for them?”

By this point the dominatrix was right up close and able to lean forward to whisper in the ex-soldier’s ear. “But then again, you are anything but a dull, ordinary Beta, aren’t you?” she purred and actually let her nose run down his neck, inhaling deeply. Scenting him. “Oh, yes. Definitely interesting. Beta scent mixed with...something else, something intoxicating. Hmm, I begin to wonder how it is that you haven’t been ravished by someone by now, especially our dear detective. His overpowering scent would make you safe in your own home, but elsewhere? Inexcusable to ignore this., especially for such a long time, if the strength of your scent is anything to go by.”

John stood stock-still, in two minds about whether to back away or stand his ground. The decision was made for him when long-nailed fingers closed lightly around his neck, pads tracing over the place where there were still faint traces of the young Alpha’s scratch marks.

“I see someone else has already made an attempt that you didn’t want to welcome, which rules out Sherlock. Good thing you were in the army and learned to defend yourself, even from Alphas.” The fingers went from stroking to gripping rather suddenly, the scent of female Alpha permeating the air. “Hm, I wonder how long your Beta mind can withstand a full onslaught of lustful pheromones from an Alpha,” she purred into his ear and licked the rim. “Your body is certainly responding if your scent is anything to go by.”

The doctor finally managed to take a step backwards, wrenching himself free despite the grip on his neck. “I have no idea what you’re on about. I’m a male Beta, a doctor and a friend of Sherlock. That is it. If you want to ‘have dinner’ with Sherlock, that’s your business, but don’t involve me.”

For a moment, Irene looked puzzled. Then understanding seemed to dawn and another slow smile crept over her features. “You don’t know. Oh, this is brilliant. Then Sherlock doesn’t know either or he would have told you.” She stepped towards him again, grabbing hold of his arm with a strength that was unusual to even Alpha women of her stature. “Another Alpha of the opposite primary gender is one thing to get hold of, and a gloriously sweet one at that, but you? You’re a rare jewel and I think I shall cherish you thoroughly.”

John knew he was staring at her, completely dumbfounded. He’d been aware the injection might have done more than make his scent smell funny and his hormones go into overdrive, but it must have been something special indeed to make an Alpha like Irene that was only interested in other Alphas take an interest beyond his association with Sherlock.

What was worse, though, was that he found himself reacting to the waves of pheromones she was sending out and directing them _at him_. The itch centred in his backside made itself known, not to mention a stirring in his nether regions, and he involuntarily took a deep breath, her scent filling his nostrils. He attempted to back away again, only to have her growl ever so slightly and pull him flush against her, making her interest clearly known.

“Any proper Alpha would be all over an Omega that wasn’t bonded, regardless of gender and age. But to have a man in his late thirties that not only smell and act like a rather strong-minded Beta, but are sending out waves of Omega pheromones to the extent that his scent is smelling less and less like a true Beta and more like Omega with traces of Beta and something chemical, but intriguing; a scent more exotic and enticing than either gender ever could be? Oh, you’ll be the tastiest of morsels that they’ll go absolutely mad for. Even if you’d smelt only of Omega, the sheer amount of pheromones you’re producing at this stage will have every Alpha gagging to mount you.”

“You have got it all wrong,” John said as he managed to take a step away from her again; he was surprised at how calm his voice sounded.

The Woman actually had the audacity to throw her head back and laugh. “Oh, my dear doctor,” she said, still smiling. “You think I can’t tell an artificially created, changed Omega who’s about to enter another...incomplete Heat from an ordinary Beta? I’m disappointed.” Her phone vibrated. “Oh, I had better be off. Time flies when you’re alive to have fun, doesn’t it? Don’t worry, though – your secret is safe with me. I shall harness the both of you in due time.”

With that and a rather suggestive wink she turned on her heels and walked away, leaving a thoroughly nonplussed Army doctor in her wake, slowly piecing together the weird behaviour of both his flatmate, his patients and himself for last couple of months. With a sense of dread he realized that it all fitted with how society treated an unbonded Omega and the confusion over his lack of corresponding behaviour.

Trying to ignore the scent of female Alpha clinging to his clothes and skin, he took another sniff at his wrist and unfortunately there was no mistaking it, now that he knew. He didn’t act like an Omega, but he did smell like one.

What had Moriarty done to him?!

He clenched his fists and only just kept himself from banging it into the nearest concrete wall. If he ever saw Moriarty again, he was going to make him pay after he’d wrung out the reason for changing him, for messing up his relationship with Sherlock...

Sherlock. He didn’t know either. John was suddenly grateful for the consulting detective’s total ignorance or at least disregard of anything that wasn’t vital to an experiment or case, which included a proper understanding of the sexual and societal meanings of scent.

He couldn’t know. Neither he nor Mycroft could know. Not only was the risk that he’d be turned into an experiment a very real one; he didn’t want his flatmate to treat him differently just because he now smelt good and well, fertile. Biology, even changed as it was, could go hang for all he cared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was such a blast to write and actually wrote itself rather quickly when I could actually see again. If it seems rushed, butchered or not up to standard, I apologize, though.  
> Feedback is as always cherished and appreciated, but keep critisism constructive, yeah?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finds out Irene is alive by the smell she's left all over John and he...reacts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for the lovely feedback (especially the comments) from all of you. Keeps me motivated, it really does.
> 
> A HUGE thank you goes to the lovely daleked for betaing this for me. All remaining mistakes, plotholes and so on are my fault.

“I see she isn’t dead after all,” was the first comment to greet him when John stepped through the front door of 221b.

“Who isn’t dead?” he asked as he shed his jacket and joined the younger Holmes in the kitchen.

The doctor was fixed with another stare from the pale eyes as they lifted from the microscope for a brief moment. “Do you take some absurd pleasure in being obtuse, John? The Woman is very much alive and you’ve just met her. Obvious.”

“How is that obvious?” the former soldier asked, confused and more than a little on the defense. He was still reeling a little from the realization of what was happening to him and was not really prepared for having his flatmate suss out who he’d been meeting. Especially given the fact that it had been Irene.

“You are determined to be dim-witted today, aren’t you?” Sherlock drawled, eyes still glued to whatever he was studying. To the Beta’s surprise, though, he then gently pushed away his microscope and stood. “If the fact that you’ve got marks of long nails that has been neglected in their usual manicure on top of the faint scars you acquired from a ‘patient’ wasn’t enough, you are covered in that rather peculiar perfume she prefers and,” he inhaled deeply as he stepped towards the shorter man, “a staggering amount of female Alpha pheromones with her unique scent-signature.”

By this point they were standing very close indeed as the Beta had stood his ground. The first thought that ran through his mind was _Oh, shit, that means he has been aware of the scent she’s been sending out all along, even if he’s hasn’t got a clue how to proceed with her_.

“Well, yeah. I met her. Didn’t really plan to, but...well, seems she still wants dinner with you. You should call,” he said calmly with a smile that felt just the teeniest bit forced. He knew Sherlock deserved a partner that could be his equal, but it still didn’t feel right to encourage it. However loathe he was to admit it, it hurt to think of those two together. But there was nothing he could offer apart from friendship, as there was no way he was making use of his...changed status. He had to take measures to ensure it wasn’t discovered.

“Why would I do that?” the deep baritone asked in a puzzled tone, cutting through the doctor’s thoughts. He looked down to see a long-fingered hand had grabbed his arm and was now bringing the wrist up to be sniffed, though the man was still looking at John.

“Sherlock, no. No more sniffing, no more scenting. I’ve told you that before. Let go.” He tried tugging it free, but to no avail.

“She obviously wouldn’t cover you in pheromones for no reason,” the pale-eyed man answered, as if he was being the height of reasonable thinking. “And she hasn’t done so before. Therefore, there must have been something that...ah. Yes. Your scent is even stronger now, even under the scent of Alpha, but it’s...” he took another sniff, nose brushing over the veins, which caused the ex-soldier to shiver ever so slightly “It’s changed again. You hardly smell like a Beta anymore, why? What is it?” he asked, almost as if to himself sounding excited and puzzled. “I...have never smelt anything like it. What can it be? It smells good. John, why do you smell so good?” He continued to nose around the wrist and hand, unconsciously letting his lips trace the places his nose went.

 John froze. This was it. This was the point where his Alpha flatmate’s biology would kick in and he’d realize exactly what it was John smelt like. That could just not happen; he had to distract the genius’ subconscious from twigging the scent-signature. For both their sakes, it was safer not to let his friend know exactly what was happening to him, especially if Irene’s prediction that he was close to some sort of not-quite-Heat was true.

It was anything but easy to wrench free and go over to the kettle, though, as his body wanted to just drown in the sensations Sherlock’s continued scenting was causing. “I have no idea, Sherlock. Could be the Alpha pheromones erasing my scent – or your experiment the other day messed with your ability to smell properly. I did warn you that yellow smoke wasn’t healthy.”

Pale eyes narrowed and the doctor knew he hadn’t fooled the genius idiot at all. An erotic sigh echoing through the room forestalled any further comments, however, as Sherlock whipped around to pick up his phone. As soon as he opened the message, his nostrils flared and there was a most likely unconscious quirking of lips.

John sighed. His friend could try to say he cared for nothing and was interested in no-one on a sexual level, but even an idiot could pick up on his more than obvious attraction to The Woman. John was only interesting right now because he presented a temporary challenge by way of being a puzzle, whereas Irene would challenge him constantly, as any partner of Sherlock Holmes should. The Beta could live with that; he had to and he would. Even if it meant having to move out of 221b or giving up on spending time with the consulting detective altogether, he would. What mattered was making Sherlock happy.

The doctor realized just how deeply in love he must be with the Alpha to think something as soppy and idiotic as _that_ at the same moment he felt the man looming just behind him. “I want tea as well,” came the annoyingly pleasant rumble close to his ear. “Don’t make it too sweet this time. You should know how I take it by now.”

“If you’re going out, you’ll only leave the full mug somewhere inconvenient where I’ll find it two days later, dried out and impossible to get clean.” John was impressed with himself; he’d neither flinched nor even turned around. “So tough luck; you’re not getting any tea.” He picked up his own steaming mug, plucked out the teabag and as he turned to dispose of it, he got a glimpse of the nonplussed look on his flatmate’s face, slightly too close to him as the man was still just behind him.

“Why would I be going out?” he asked, sounding as puzzled as he looked. “There are no cases on just- ah. Of course. John, I have no intention of having dinner with her...or anything else.”

“If you say so, Sherlock,” the doctor answered in what was to him a surprisingly mild and teasing tone. In a weird sort of way he was actually glad he knew what was ‘wrong’ with him, as it seemed to calm him down. Part of him wondered if it was a coping mechanism; to mentally separate himself from what his body was going through so that he couldn’t truly feel it and be affected by it. If it was, it probably wasn’t healthy, but then again, why break a habit?

He made a move to retreat from the kitchen and into the living room, but was rather effectively stopped by the flatmate who hadn’t moved an inch. Tea sloshed over the side as John bumped into the taller man, followed by a curse as the hot liquid spilled down, only just missing his front. Still the human barrier didn’t move.

“Sherlock,” the doctor sighed in exasperation. “What’s gotten into you now? Look, it’s fine if you...well, she’s an attractive woman. You don’t need to justify it. Now please move so I can have what’s left of this tea and then have a shower.”

Another attempt to get past was made and stalled by the consulting detective, who removed the teacup, grabbed onto the smaller man’s arms and leaned close.

“She’s another Alpha, John. To do anything with her is a biological dead-end. There’s no point.”

The doctor actually couldn’t help smiling at that; trust Sherlock not to get it. “You know, not everything sexual has got to have anything to do with a biological imperative. There are plenty of both Alphas and Omegas that prefer their own gender.”

The younger Holmes seemed to ponder this. “A point, yes,” he conceded. “But neither Alpha nor Omega goes for a Beta, even one with an interesting scent, so why was she trying to entice you by dumping her scent all over you?” he wondered and to John’s dread, leaned in even further and sniffed at his neck where long-nailed fingers had gripped earlier, nose tracing the marks. “She tried to mark you. John, are you jealous? That she wants me but made a pass at you? Why did you let her?” the Alpha asked, baritone voice edging on a growl as he lifted his head to glare at the Beta.

 _Well, yes, I’m jealous, but not for the reason you think._ “Now you’re just being ridiculously territorial – and I’m not your territory, anyway. Alphas don’t go for Betas; you’ve just said so yourself. So why would she want me when she could have you?” he asked, in what he hoped was a reasonable tone with no hint of jealousy.

“But you smell so good; how could anyone resist that?” Sherlock asked with a note of puzzlement and wonder in his voice. He took another deep sniff and John saw his pupils dilate as the scent hit his nostrils full force. The amount of scent he was producing had to be getting worse. Then his thoughts derailed as he suddenly had an Alpha plastered all over him, pinning him against the kitchen counter.

“Smells so good...mmmh...yes...exceedingly good. I need...more...need to catalogue...more...yes...so good,” the detective murmured, nosing his way along every uncovered part of his friend he could reach, growling under his breath when he encountered another Alpha’s scent and unconsciously attempting to rub in his own in its place. “Mine...no one else...mine...so good...mine...yees,” he muttered and followed the trail his nose had taken with lips and tongue.

John was torn; his body was enjoying the attention enormously, wanting to submit, and the possessive words sent a jolt straight to his cock, but his mind was screaming at the very idea of being submissive and giving in, seeing danger signs everywhere, and it wanted him to get the Alpha as far away from him as possible. That Sherlock was only doing it because his Alpha biology was reacting to Omega pheromones and not because he actually wanted _John_ added a sick feeling to the whole mess.

“Stop. Sherlock, get off.”

But the consulting detective didn’t seem to have heard him; instead he tried to get even closer, his own scent pulsing out more and more waves, effectively erasing Irene’s scent in favour of his own pungent pheromones. There was to be only one Alpha for this Omega. “Mine!” he growled and thrust his hips forward, a telltale and ridiculously huge bulge in tailored trousers grinding into the doctor’s thigh. “Mark...no one else...so fertile...mark, yes...bond...mine!”

When one hand tried to sneak down his backside to find his hole – which was admittedly aching and, if the Beta was any judge at all, starting to produce actual lubrication – John snapped out of his paralyzed, indecisive state. Thanking his military training for his strength and ability to ignore what his body was telling him when it mattered, though he suspected it wouldn’t last, he pushed his friend off of him with a hard shove, which earned him a deep growl and bared teeth.

“I’m so sorry, Sherlock, but this is not you. If things were different, then God yes, please but...this is not what you want and I am not going to take advantage of you. Not now, not ever.”

“MINE!” the Alpha roared and lunged forward. Luckily the former soldier had anticipated this and rammed his fist into his friend’s stomach as he came forward. As the taller man doubled over in pain, the Beta secured his arms in a lock with one hand and with the other he grabbed hold of a handful of curls. Sherlock tried to twist around and throw him off, growling all the while.

It was anything but easy to keep the younger man restrained; the ex-soldier’s body wanted nothing more than to let go and submit and so he had to wrestle two bodies into doing what he wanted.“No. You are not touching me. You’re going into your room and you are not going to come out until you’re back to normal.” Another violent twist was his response. “Sherlock. Sherlock, stop. If you don’t go into your room...I...I’ll knock you out and go to Irene instead.”

As if by a magic stroke the struggles ceased and a strange, eerie calm settled over the Alpha’s body. He managed to turn his head enough to look John in the eye, causing the smaller man to flinch ever so slightly. Pale eyes had gone from being heavily dilated to dangerous pinpricks. “You wouldn’t _dare!_ ” he hissed, face twisting in cold fury spurred on by hormones.

“I would and I will do it if you don’t stop fighting me and go into your own room.” He shoved the man forward and surprisingly, he obeyed by not fighting.

As soon as they were past the threshold, however, the detective tried to twist again in an effort to get his flatmate off him and onto the bed. The doctor managed just barely to step away in time and instead it was the younger man that tumbled onto the sheets. Before he had time to re-orientate himself and stand up, he heard the door shut and lock. He rushed to the door, rattling the doorknob to no avail.

“John. Get back in here!” he shouted. There was no response. “John, don’t go. Please. I need...your scent is heaven...please just let me smell it again. It’s so fertile, I need to...John, I know you felt it too, your scent was begging me...”

“How can I be fertile, Sherlock? I’m a Beta, remember?” John shouted back, sitting in the living room with his back to the door.

“Of course you’re not.” It should be comforting that the Alpha’s voice had become somewhat calm again; that he was returning to his logical mind, but with the pheromones still seeping out from under the door, he’d most likely only gained enough to further snare a potential mate. “No Beta could ever smell so enticing. Have you been using suppressants all this time? Is that why your scent has suddenly increased so much that it is torturous heaven to smell? Oh, God, this is intolerable. Let me out. Let me just...let me taste you. Please, John!”

John bit his lip in order to keep himself from letting out any sound, as it was bound to be embarrassing in some way. He was feeling emptier and hornier by the minute and he had to use every ounce of willpower he possessed not to get up and unlock the door. He was neither an Alpha nor an Omega, no matter what had happened to him, and he refused to be a slave to his hormones. He’d promised himself that when the realization had dawned back at the power station. The fact that his resolve not to let Sherlock know had gone out the window was something he tried not to dwell on, apart from hoping that when the Alpha was fit to be allowed out of his room that he’d have forgotten or at least deleted the whole incident by then. After all, anything that left him anything other than in absolute control of himself was bound to be deleted.

In the meantime he had to find something to block the door with, just in case his friend regained enough mental faculties to attempt to pick the lock, and then he’d have to go and find something that could be used to dull the incessant _need_ radiating out from his hole.

He managed to get both of their chairs pushed up against the doorframe, but before he could find anything to relieve his need, he felt his phone vibrate. Thinking it was probably Lestrade attempting to get through to Sherlock via John, he answered it. Only it wasn’t the detective inspector’s voice floating out through the phone’s tiny speaker.

“Well, hello Johnny boy. Long time no see. How good of you to pick up.”

Moriarty. John gritted his teeth, willing himself to neither respond nor slam the phone into the floor.

“Ah. Naughty boy not to respond when I’m talking to you. But I guess having a very lustful Alpha close by does tend to rob the faculties when you’re...well, heating up.” There was a pause and for a moment the doctor hoped the man had hung up. But there was no such luck; a laugh echoed through. “Even naughtier to lock him up, wasn’t it? But then again, you’re probably counting on him deleting this whole thing when it’s over, aren’t you? Well, I do hate to rain on your parade, but you’re WRONG!” The speaker whined at the sudden volume of the voice and the Beta flinched, both at the vocal volume and the realization that the madman had to be somewhere close by for him to know that. That or be good at guessing correctly.

“You see, _doctor_ ,” that smooth, yet somehow still unbalanced voice continued, “I know Sherlock and his strange little ways. How he tries to keep in control and convince himself he is _oh so above it aa-aall_ ,” he sing-songed. “I knew little Irene’s attempts to lure him wouldn’t work and I designed your little...improvement with components added just for Sherlock, so that he won’t be able to delete...anything.”

Finally John couldn’t keep his mouth shut anymore, though he kept his voice low in order not to alert his flatmate, who was being curiously quiet. “How? How can you do that? Why do this at all? How does any of this make me ‘non-dull’?” He lowered his voice even further and quietly, almost sadly, continued, “Turning my body into a hormone-driven glory hole is only bound to make him work his cases alone. Then he’ll be able to catch you all the sooner with no distractions.”

“Tut, tut, Johnny-boy. I’m hurt; you give me no credit at all,” Moriarty said in what would to anyone who didn’t know him probably sound like a genuine hurt tone in his voice. “I wouldn’t let you go through all of this just to have our dear little detective dump you, would I? No, no, no. As things stand, you’re just too much _fun_ to watch,” and the voice changed from hurt to manic cheer in an instant. “Such a strong Beta with a needy Omega body and an Alpha that doesn’t know how to properly manage such a rare treat? Pure gold, that is - all I’m missing is the popcorn, baby,” he finished in the same gleeful voice tinged with an American accent. John’s blood ran cold.

“Of course, there’s always the possibility of snatching you myself. Oh, I’d show you a good time. Wonder if you’d put that military strength to use while you’re writhing on the sheets, taking what you need...oh, Johnny,” he breathed, clearly having had taken a deep sniff. “You might want to close the window. Even though you won’t get a full Heat this time around, your smell is...rather good as it drifts down to the street, I must confess. I can’t hold off all the Alphas that would love to mount you and though that would be fun as well, we can’t have Sherlock go crazy with jealous rage, can we?” He paused as if he was pondering just that concept. “Well, I suppose we could. But not yet. Patience – they do say all good things comes to those who wait,” he purred.

The doctor had rushed over to foolishly see if he could spot the consulting criminal on the street, but of course there was no sign of him.

“Uh-uh. That’s cheating, Johnny, and cheaters need to be punished.” For some reason that cheerful voice bordering on sing-song was always scarier than even his roaring rage and the doctor felt a spike of fear run into the mess that was his body already. Then he heard another phone signalling an incoming message through the speaker.

“Aw. Seems playtime’s over. For me, at least. But then, I do love my jo-ob. Take care, Johnny-boy, but do remember; all work and no play leaves an Omega in dire straits – the clock is ticking. Bye-bye!”

As soon as he lowered the phone from his ear, he became conscious of a thudding sound. Apparently Sherlock hadn’t taken kindly to being locked in a room with an apparent Omega in heat outside talking to someone else.

“Sherlock, calm down, please.”

“Who was that? Someone else that you’re going to share your heat with? The Woman? You can’t, John; you’re mine. Let me out!”

“No. God, would you _stop_ sending out all those pheromones?” the Beta groaned as he realized what he’d asked. "Well, you can’t. Of course you can’t. You know what, I’ll be back in a few hours time. It should be over by then and then you'll hopefully be back to normal.” _Oh, please._

“John. John, you can’t leave. You’ll be knotted as soon as you’re out the door. You can’t. You’re mine. You’re MINE! JOHN!” There was more pounding on the door, which the doctor tried to ignore.

As he savoured the possessive words for just a moment, the absurdity of what his life had become hit him and he couldn't help smiling despite himself, shaking his head. Then the solution to where he could go hit him; 221c. He’d take some blankets down there along with a bottle of water and something he’d kept in his bottom drawer, break the lock and hopefully he’d be out of this ridiculous not-quite-heat in a few hours. Then he’d try to somehow deal with and fix all the _other_ things that had gone haywire.

He’d sort it out and things would work. They’d be alright. He had to believe that or he might as well just break down and save Moriarty the trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This...really got away from me. I had intended a slightly different direction for this, but again (and again sounding conceited, sorry) the boys pulled it this way; any other direction got stuck somehow.  
> I worried about the pacing, though, but have been assured that it's okay. Feedback of any kind is as always loved and appreciated, as long as the critisism is constructive.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock doesn't stay locked up and attempts another go at John...which doesn't go to plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amount of response to this is still mindblowing and I thank you *all* for it. It is amazing and I truly appreciate it. Even got over 250 subscribers, would you believe?
> 
> Once more beta'ed by the lovely daleked, who deserves praise. All remaining mistakes, plotholes and the like are mine

Unfortunately for John, Sherlock had a habit of being dedicated and persistent in everything he set his mind to, even if it usually only took him a few moments to solve that given problem. This time it might also have been more his nether regions doing the thinking, but as the doctor watched in mounting horror, the chairs started moving more and more as the door they were pushed up against was rammed by an Alpha in a lust-addled rage. In a distant part of his brain, the Beta marvelled at his friend’s ability to continue talking, and mostly coherently at that, as he kept throwing himself against the wood.

“Going to Irene...never heard...of such a thing...she’d spit you out...the moment your heat...was over...” _oh, and you wouldn’t?_ John thought, eyebrow rising on its own accord even as the words twisted in his gut “...you’re much too...special, John...God, the smell of you...you are mine...to be wasted on...a woman like that...though your own...choice of women...is hardly better...honestly, John, a _Beta?_...much too good...you smell so fertile...so ready to be knotted...and filled...so why have you...locked me up? You need this...you’re dripping with it...and I’m going to...make that happen...so pretty babies we’d make...yes, your scent is getting thicker...oh, god... _John!”_

With that last word, the wood splintered around where the lock was situated and the next shove against it had it banging against the first chair. Another shove and both chairs scooted backwards enough to allow the consulting detective to squeeze through the opening of the door and clamber out. Finally free of the furniture, he stood up straight, though he managed to loom while doing so.

John stared. There didn’t seem to be much left of the consulting detective genius he knew and called a friend; gone was the calm, calculating, _intelligent_ gaze, the grace and flair of his movements, the immaculate attire and the general demeanour of superiority. Instead there stood a dishevelled, half-naked, panting, growling creature with wild eyes that had been almost entirely swallowed by dilated pupils. There was a fine layer of sweat covering the revealed skin and the enormous erection straining against his trousers was as prominent as before. The Alpha pheromones pumped from him, enveloping the doctor whose knees threatened to buckle under the sensory onslaught.

“You are mine, John; I want you, I need you and I _will_ have you!” Sherlock snarled, advancing on his flatmate. His eyes never left his prey as he stalked forward, hands curled into claws at his side, teeth bared.

The Beta knew better than to turn and run; exposing his back was the last thing he needed to do. As it was, it was all he could do to fight his body’s efforts to make him drop to his hands and knees and expose his neck. He could feel his pants rub against his arse, soaked as they were in lubrication and for a moment he wondered if it would be so bad just to let the Alpha have his way with him; he would delete the whole thing afterwards, after all, and it would not only bring John sweet relief, but give him a taste of what he wanted. As far as he knew, there wasn’t even the risk of pregnancy.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Sherlock didn’t want _him_ ; he, or rather the Alpha in him, wanted only what biology dictated he should want; an apparently fertile, unbonded Omega in heat to knot, fill and impregnate. Even Irene, who was not only gay but in love with Sherlock, only wanted him because of that, and it made John sick to his stomach. Besides that, he was not an Omega, despite whatever had been done to his body, and he still refused to be a slave to it. If Sherlock wanted him, John H. Watson, it should be because of him and not some biological imperative or whatever it was Moriarty had added to that thrice-damned injection.

That was why, even as he found himself moaning and whining in submission, he backed away, moving faster than the man moving towards him. There had to be something in the flat that would allow him to incapacitate the younger Holmes long enough for this damned not-quite-Heat to pass. The thought that if this could render his friend so lust-addled and out of his mind, the results of a full-on Heat could be devastating, to both of them, was one he tried very hard not to entertain. Somewhere there had to be something. The kitchen, perhaps, if he could only distract the other for long enough to let him grab _something_ out of the homemade lab.

“Gods...Sherlock, I _am_ a Beta, not an Omega. I don’t have a womb and I’m not fertile. I cannot bear children. I know your senses tell you something else...oh, damn, you smell good, too...but you don’t want me. You’re letting your instincts...mmmh...your instincts win. Transport, wasn’t it? You’ve never been tempted by Omega scents before...haaah...not even when we...went to that brothel...for a case...so why is...is this different?” As Sherlock came closer, the amount of pheromones, both Alpha and Omega, increased further and mixed, not helped by the fact that they were now in their rather smaller kitchen, and they were both panting from it at that point.

The consulting detective’s face twisted and it took the former soldier a second to realize that it was supposed to be a smile. A grin, even, as if John had pleased him with what he’d said. “Our children...are going to be... _perfect_ ; not only...will they have...a brilliant father...but they’ll have...a mother with both...looks _and_ brains. Perfect...Not like those pampered...little Omegas with...the brains of...chicken...I promise...I’ll fill you up...with as many...babies as...you want.”

“I don’t want children!” the Beta burst out, shocked at his friend, at himself for the strength of the outburst and his body for the throbbing _need_ that rocketed with the mention of children. “I _can’t_ have...children and I know you...certainly don’t want...any. Gods, look what...it’s doing to you...to us both. I’ll...I’ll find a way...around this, Sherlock. I...I promise I will.” He groped around on the counter, trying to find something that would do and his heart almost leapt out of his chest with relief when he looked down to find out he’d gotten hold of a bottle of chloroform. He silently thanked whoever might be listening that he had a flatmate who would keep stuff like chloroform in the kitchen and also that it wasn’t ether. It was more effective for his purposes.

Unfortunately his momentary stop had given the Alpha the time he needed to catch up and he pounced on the smaller man, gripping him tightly. One hand immediately went to his arse, attempting to get beneath sodden material and into his dripping hole, while the other grabbed the back of his neck, holding him in place with a surprisingly strong, unrelenting grip. The cupid bow lips descended onto his neck, though there didn’t seem to be any intention of teeth penetrating skin, at least just yet.

“Oh, God, absolute heaven...I must extract this scent...mmmh...yes, going to be mine...no one else can have you...”

The Beta mentally sobbed; if only that could come true. In that he was in complete agreement with his otherwise treacherous body, but he was not about to trap either of them in a situation they didn’t want. Sherlock didn’t want a mate, apart from what his biology was telling him at the moment, and John had no intention of becoming his mate just because of that biology. They’d feel hamstringed and tricked and their relationship would deteriorate and fall apart.

So John got a good hold of the bottle with the hand closest to the detective’s head, unscrewed the top with two fingers and as quietly as he could lifted the bottle as close to the other’s nose as he could get it without it affecting him overly much, which his hand pinching his nose should help with, while still being effective on the unsuspecting Alpha. He knew that Sherlock’s drug tolerance was rather alarmingly high, which might count against the effectiveness, but he was counting on him sniffing up plenty of the vapours along with the scent he was trying to imprint on and drown in. There wasn’t a need for him to be completely unconscious, after all; all that the Beta needed was for him to be enough out of it to be drowsy and compliant, so he could be tied down in a way he couldn’t break free from, at least before John was...back to normal.

“I’m so sorry, Sherlock,” he whispered, voice raw as he felt the body against him lean on him more and more heavily. When he felt certain he could overpower the Alpha without too much trouble, he put the bottle down carefully on the counter and grabbed hold of the by now swaying body. Pale eyes were still dilated, but even as they threatened to close and stay so, they held a confused hurt.

“I know and I’m so sorry I had to do this. If only I could be certain it was you...but you’ll thank me for it in the morning.” The eyes did close at that point and the long legs gave out, forcing the former soldier to grab hold of the younger man. The pheromones were still pumping. “Christ, you should thank me for having more willpower than I thought possible.” He hoisted the heavy body up as best he could and tried to ignore his heat, the pheromones and the rather inviting erection encased in tailored trousers. “Come on, let’s get you into bed. With any luck you’ll have deleted this whole episode the moment you wake up.”

He dragged his friend into his room, tied his hands and feet securely to the bed with some rope he’d found lying in the living room – after living with a man obsessed with experimenting with _everything_ for a while one stopped wondering at such things as why they had strong rope lying around – and then, making himself walk away from what would be his one chance, proceeded up to his own room.

As he dug out the dildo he’d bought ages ago from the bottom dresser drawer, he tried not to think about what Moriarty had said. Not only the fact that he’d calculated with Sherlock’s tendency of deleting unnecessary things from his ‘hard-drive’ and apparently compensated for it _somehow_ , but that he’d mentioned that the clock was ticking in relation to Omegas. That could mean several things, none of which the doctor really wanted to contemplate.

He stripped, crawled onto the bed and unceremoniously shoved in the dildo, wanting the relief of something up his, to him still astonishingly greedy, hole. Even though he knew he’d been oozing lubrication for a while at that point, it still surprised him how smoothly the rubber went into his passage and he moaned as it hit something that had to be his prostate. It wasn’t a real cock, there were no pheromones apart from his own and what had lingered on his skin from the detective and there would be no knot, but it was something at least. He could live with that, for now.

 

* * *

 

 

“John? JOHN!” was the first sound to reverberate through the messy flat that was 221b Baker Street that morning.

John barely looked up from where he was sat in his own chair, reading some hack mystery novel. After half a night spent pleasuring himself as best he could, he’d migrated back down into the living room where he’d tidied up and put his chair in front of the ruined door, which he had pushed to as far as it could go, so he could keep an eye on his flatmate. His body had blessedly been more tired than expected and he’d slept rather soundly without twisting too much in his bonds. Nevertheless, the Beta had made sure to check for rope burns when he’d returned downstairs.

“Easy, Sherlock, I’m right here. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

“Clearly I need to since I’ve been strapped to my own bed by some rather ingenious knots, I’m half naked, the door is broken...and why are you sitting outside the door?”

The doctor looked up again in time to see the other take a deep breath. Pale eyes widened as that brilliant mind catalogued the scents still present in the flat as the Beta hadn’t dared open the windows in case the smell of Heat would attract unwanted attention. Then they narrowed.

“What happened? Why are there so many pheromones, _my_ pheromones included, in the air?”

John sighed as he got up. It seemed that Sherlock really had deleted the incident after all and while he knew it would be futile to outright deny anything, as that would only pique his friend’s curiosity, he could at least try and convince him it was for the best that he’d chosen to delete it.

First he had to step into the room and untie him, though, and he mentally groaned as the Alpha’s body still seemed determined to snatch him, sending out even more pheromones despite his ‘Heat’ having passed. He’d washed off the scents he’d been dosed with when he was able to think again, so he at least no longer smelled of their mixed scents or of sweat and semen.

“You...deleted it, apparently, and it’s probably for the best that you did, Sherlock. You don’t need any other distractions from the Work, yes? Now lie back and relax your hands so that I can get at these knots.”

The detective glared at his blogger as he bent over the rope incapacitating him, careful to avoid touching any actual skin. “But why would I delete...John. John, you still smell strange. Good, though. Seems familiar, too – John, why have you moved away? What did I do? It must have something to do with your scent or you wouldn’t be clasping your hand over your neck where access to your scent is the easiest. What is it?” One hand was free and it made quick work of the remaining knot of rope. As the younger Holmes sat up, his flatmate backed further away and pale eyes narrowed. “I touched you. Because of the scent?”

“Sherlock, you deleted it for a reason, yeah? Just...I don’t know. Trust me on this. It’s going to be fine, just let it go. Which is asking for a lot of you, I know, but...it’s better like that,” he finished, trying for a smile.

“But why, John?” Something seemed to click. “You came home smelling of Irene. She’s not dead.”

That seemed fairly easy to admit, all things taken into perspective. “Ehm, yeah,” John answered, starting to walk back out the door. “She’d like dinner with you. But perhaps you’d better inform Mycroft that she’s back, too.”

The mention of his brother had the desired effect; Sherlock’s eyes narrowed again and he sprang up like a jack in the box, catching up to the shorter man in a few strides. “He most likely already knows. He’s much too nosy for his own good as it is. You really should have taken his offer to spy on me for him. We could have used the money – and dreamed up such brilliant things to tell him.” An almost boyish grin graced his features as he glanced down at the man beside him and John felt a weight lift from his heart as he grinned back. It looked like the Heat and its implications had been deleted by the Alpha and they could hopefully return to what passed for normal for them.

The weight quickly settled again, however, when Sherlock took a deep breath and got a proper dose of John’s scent as well as the more heavy. His pupils blew wide and he froze, one hand clamping down on the smaller man’s shoulder.

“I deleted this. How can I remember something I’ve clearly deleted? How can I _know_ what it was I deleted?” he wondered aloud. He looked down at his friend again. “You wanted me to delete this.” There was a slight tone of accusation in his voice and the grip on the shoulder tightened.

The doctor swallowed as he looked back, forcing himself to remain calm. He’d been trained to handle unforeseen situations; he should be able to handle this easily. Nothing had to change even with this turn of events. “Well, yes, and if you remember, then you’ll know _why_ I thought it best you deleted it all. You...weren’t exactly yourself.” He paused. “Please stop squeezing that shoulder.”

The Alpha did let go of the shoulder, but grabbed John around the waist instead, pressing himself close to the other body, nose again pressed against tanned skin, sniffing and letting out a distinctly happy noise.

John almost rolled his eyes as he was draped in consulting detective once _more_ , but this time he could at least react somewhat more calmly and against all odds, he was smiling. The cat may be out of the bag and it looked unlikely that they would be able to go back to exactly how they had been, but there was a chance they could work around it all now they, Sherlock in particular, weren’t under the influence of Heat. They could set up some ground rules.

“How is it you can remember? I’ve never known you to not delete something _thoroughly_.”

“Your scent. A proper inhalation close to the source was apparently enough to trigger some of it, though that should not be possible. What is it, John? Why do you smell of Omega?” The doctor felt the flinch of the lanky body as more recollections flowed back. “You smelled so good last night. You...you were in heat and you resisted me. You _drugged_ me, John.”

“Well, I did try to just lock you in your room, but apparently you were quite determined to make sure you were the one to...well, breed me, frankly, so you broke down the bloody door. You didn’t take kindly to the idea of anyone else touching me – get your nose out of my ear, it tickles – either and particularly Irene- oi!”

The arms around him had tightened into something approaching a vice and the doctor felt just the tips of canines against his skin. “Sherlock Holmes, would you bloody well cut that out? I am not an Omega, I am not yours nor am I anyone’s property and I _will_ knock you down if you don’t knock that off.”

“You clearly scent-identify as one, John, and there’s no mistaking the smell of sex and that special self-lubrication that only an Omega Heat produces,” the detective answered and to John’s slight horror, there was a hint of a purr in his baritone voice as well as a warning. “You have to admit that I would be the best choice.”

“The _best choice?_ Right, that’s it. Off!” The smaller man wrestled out of the grip, spinning around to face his friend. “Just because I smell different, like an Omega, does not mean you can treat me as if I’m somehow less than you. Like I am an object for you to claim because your biology tells you to just for you to grow bored and trapped and leave me. I might have Heats and God only knows how that is possible, but it’s _my_ choice if I wish to do something about it. Or not, as the case may be.” He took a deep breath. “I am _me_ , Sherlock. John Hamish Watson, no matter what my scent says I am, and if we can’t continue as we have been, maybe it’s best if I do go somewhere else.”

John watched a surprising array of expressions flicker across Sherlock’s features; surprise, desire, indignation, puzzlement and hurt. That he didn’t then settle into his normal neutral, bordering on disdainful, expression did surprise the older man.

“You’d go? Where? To Irene?” The voice was strangely quiet, something indefinable in it.

John couldn’t help snorting, even as his expression softened. “So you remembered that as well? No. No I wouldn’t go to Irene. If anyone is in danger of that, it’d be you.”

“But I don’t want her; I have you,” the consulting detective said, the words seemingly coming out before he had a chance to think. “You can’t go. You belong here.”

“I don’t want to go,” the Beta answered truthfully. _And I’d love nothing more than to_ really _belong to you_ , he added silently. “But I won’t see our friendship destroyed by decisions made under the influence of the hormones, pheromones and biology that plague both Alphas and Omegas, especially if I am going to have another Heat and that seems increasingly likely at this point.”

“But if you go, you’ll be snatched by someone else and I will lose my blogger regardless, as Alphas are not known to let their Omegas associate with other Alphas,” Sherlock pointed out, again sounding as if he was being the height of reason.

John sighed. “I am not going to be snatched by anyone. I am not weak and fragile and submissive.” A realization hit, hard and fast, and his eyes widened. “God. That’s what everyone is going to think now, isn’t it? Just because I scent-identify as an Omega instead of a Beta, everything that I’ve achieved and done is going to be dismissed. Shit!” His legs suddenly felt weak again, psychosomatic limp notwithstanding. To his surprise, he was saved from collapsing by long-fingered, strong hands grabbing onto his hips.

“How is it possible? I have never heard of anyone actually being able to change their secondary genders. Why did you do it? _How_ did you do it?”

“I didn’t do it!” John said, exasperated. He pulled away and sat down in the nearest chair, the younger Holmes moving to stand just beside it. “I-“

That was the other thing, wasn’t it? To come out on why this was happening. Sherlock now knew what was happening to him, even though he’d promised himself to conceal it, and it did seem unlikely that they could go back to how things had been, what with the Alpha’s remarkably different behaviour, even without a Heat spurring him on. So what would the difference really be? Moriarty had managed to muck things up between them as it was. Telling the younger Holmes might even be beneficial at this point, becoming an experiment or not. Hell, being an experiment would still be better than an object fit only for being bred.

“I didn’t do anything,” he started, running a tired hand over his face. “I was injected with something. What I don’t know, but it wasn’t of my own volition to have it pumped into my system.” He looked up to see the questions piling up behind pale eyes and held up a hand to forestall them. “Wait. Before you bombard me, you might want to know something. It happened before the...pool incident.”

Understanding dawned.

“Moriarty,” Sherlock breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps not the direction you were quite hoping for, but bear with me. There is a point to it all :)  
> Longest chapter to date and first one I really struggled with, as it went through a few revisions. Sorry if any of it shows - and sorry for the overabundance of epiteths. I've tried ironing them out, but we'll get there in the next chapter.
> 
> Feedback is as always loved and cherished, constructive critisism included. Really, I love hearing what you think of it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John discuss what's happened, what's going to happen, the emotions of it and leave a lot of things unsaid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, wow - so much wonderful feedback it's still leaving me floored, in the best way imaginable. Thank you!
> 
> This is a long, talk-filled chapter, so buckle up and bear with me - and it *hasn't* been beta'ed, as I figured I'd give daleked a little break, so mistakes are mine alone.

John nodded. They looked at each in silence for a while. The doctor had to admit to being a little impressed that his friend could keep his mouth shut when there was obviously a lot of thoughts and questions piling up in that massive brain.

Finally the silence was broken. “Why?”

It most certainly wasn’t the question John had expected to be the first he was asked and he had to admit it made him gawk just a bit. “Why what? Why then? Why me? Why Moriarty?”

“All of them.”

“I don’t know. It’s Moriarty; there hasn’t got to be an actual explanation for why. There just has to be an opportunity, which I guess explains the question of why then. Why me? I don’t know, but I’d guess it’s because of my association with you.” John looked up at his friend beside him in time to see his face twist. “Oh, no. No, you don’t. This wasn’t your fault. I won’t have you brooding or blaming yourself for something that was outside your control and that you had no possible way of knowing would happen before it happened.”

“He’s a madman, an unhinged psychopath and I let my love of a challenge, of the game, go before making sure of your safety. I made it possible for him to take you, to make you another target, a pawn in our game.” Sherlock looked like he’d swallowed acid and his hands were trembling. John grabbed hold of one in an attempt to calm him.

“I knew that. I knew that getting involved with you was going to be dangerous. That’s how you enticed me in the first place, if you remember. I didn’t plan on getting kidnapped and injected by a psychopath, that’s true, but then I’d be more worried if I _had_ planned on that,” he said, trying to playing it off as a joke. It didn’t work and he felt his hand being squeezed to the point that he was sure he felt bones cracking. “Sherlock, would you calm down? What’s happened has happened and no amount of brooding or sulking is going to make it go away. As it is, he could have made it a lot worse.”

That had been the wrong thing to say. The Alpha drew a deep, slightly shuddering breath, the grip on the other’s hand tightening even more. “Don’t even say that,” he ground out between clenched teeth.

John bit his lip. He couldn’t say it, but apart from the very justified concern that Moriarty _had_ done something more to him, this much more emotional side of Sherlock wasn’t something he wasn’t entirely sure he could handle. It seemed so at odds with his usual, indifferent, frankly sociopathic behaviour that it had to be caused by the remnants of the pheromones in the air causing it.

That it might have something to do with the ‘added components’ that had been in the injection for Sherlock’s ‘benefit’ was something he put to the back of his mind. They could cross that bridge when and if they got to it. The possibility that it was because of actual _feelings_ towards his blogger was a notion he could only laugh at. Sherlock had proven beyond any doubt that the only reason he would be interested was because of what had happened to John, be it for the puzzle he presented or because he was now something the consulting detective’s biology dictated he should want.

“It’s true,” he said in the end, going for the short, almost flippantly brunt answer. “I don’t know how the _hell_ he did it, but the fact of the matter is that he has somehow made me into, as far as we can tell at the moment, an Omega, at least in body. We deal with the facts and work out how we can proceed from here.”

For a while only silence met his statement. He looked at the hand still gripping his rather too tightly, idly wondering what it would take to get his hand back in one piece, and then he tilted his head up again to look at the Alpha. The sharp features were carefully expressionless.

“You left one out.”

“One out?” the Beta echoed. The other man didn’t look at him.

“Of the whys. You failed to mention the question of why you’ve kept this information from me.” The baritone voice was as carefully devoid of anything as the face. “Why you did research, extensive at that, and never once since it happened have you mentioned that you were injected with something. It could have been poisonous, John; it could have been _lethal_.”

John took a deep breath. “And you didn’t think I _might_ have considered that?” he countered, fighting to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “I am a doctor, in case you’ve forgotten; of course I checked that. If he wanted to kill me, don’t you think he’d have used the explosives? Poison is too...subtle for Moriarty, when it comes to your game. He wants your attention; a silent poison killing won’t do that. Obvious.” Maybe it was cruel to mock his friend with his own words, but it didn’t change the fact that John felt justified in doing so.

Sherlock wasn’t biting, however. “That still leaves the question of your silence on the subject.” Cool, calm, detached; if it wasn’t for the death grip on his hand, John could easily have believed the Alpha to be as unaffected as usual.

“I didn’t know what I’d been injected with or what it would do to me. He...” he frowned, trying to remember the details of that absolutely horrid night “he said something about my blood-type and how it should stop me being such a dull little Beta.”

“Secondary gender is controlled by the phenotype of the blood.” The answer seemed taken straight out of a textbook. “The Rh determines whether any offspring will take to the blood of the Alpha or the Omega.”

“If both parents have the same type of Rh, the fallout could go either way. If the Alpha has AB blood instead of just A as a phenotype, there is a one in a thousand possibility of the child will be a Beta if the Rh is negative in both parents and a one in ten thousand if positive,” John finished for him. “I know all of that; I did actually study medicine, you know. They don’t give you the degree unless you actually pass the courses. That still doesn’t explain how he can override my phenotype or why he did it.”

“Or why you didn’t tell me.”

Apparently he wasn’t going to get out of answering that one. He managed to wriggle his hand free and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t tell you, Sherlock, because frankly it’s none of your business, Moriarty or not. It’s still my body, if nothing else. Nor did I want you to treat me like some sort of experiment because something had been pumped into my blood – oh, you would have, don’t look at me like that, it doesn’t work – and once I knew _what_ exactly had been done to me, there wasn’t much time not to tell you in.” His solemn internal vow that he would keep the change a secret now seemed nothing but a fool’s hope now, even if he hadn’t been outed by the Heat and the Alpha’s biology overriding his brain.

Something clicked in that massive brain. “Irene told you. She knew.”

There wasn’t really any point in denying it. “She could smell there was something different to my scent, something mixed with my normal Beta smell, and probably because she’s more used to being around Omegas than you-“

“I conducted a study of different Omega pheromones dependant on age and primary gender...” Sherlock interrupted.

The doctor sighed. He seemed to be doing that a lot. “Yes, you did – I was there for the duration, if you remember. But that was distilled samples devoid of the actual human being in question and that does make a difference in detecting what’s happening. Your biology doesn’t kick in when it’s a condensed, clinical sample and only the label actually properly identifies the pheromones.” He paused, looking a little pointedly at the other man. “As I was saying, she’s most likely more used to being around actual living Omegas and she does make it her business to be informed of such things, so it makes sense for her to suss it out, given the amount of pheromones the Heat was letting out.” He shrugged. “Or she could be in on it with Moriarty.”

There was a pause. “You are not coming anywhere near her again. Ever.”

If the circumstances had been different, the possessive, protecting tone of voice would probably have been sweet. As it was, John could only roll his eyes at the display of Alpha biology.  

“Again, she is not interested in _me_. I’m still dull old John with soft jumpers and cups of tea. What she reacted to, as did you, was my Heat and the insane amount of enticing pheromones it produces, even incomplete as it was. God, it still feels _weird_ to say that. Heat. It isn’t even as if I’ve got a womb!” He got another look. “No. Chemicals and hormones can do a lot of things, but they cannot make a reproductive system that isn’t there. You _know_ all of that, much better than me – you know, perhaps I ought to go out for a bit. That way you might retrieve your brain from wherever your biology has shoved it.”

“You have no need of going anywhere. I am perfectly fine.”

“You might be fine, but you’re most definitely not yourself,” the doctor returned surprisingly evenly. “I haven’t been bombarded with deductions,  you haven’t declared this whole thing utterly obvious and boring, you’ve actually taken me into consideration and you keep hovering like I’m about to break or bolt.” _Not to mention the amount of sniffing you’re still doing and your continued attempts to rub your scent onto me_ , he added in his own head.

There was another pause. “Is that really what you think of me?” There it was again; that odd, indefinable something caught in the tone of voice.

“That...that really proves my point. Normally you don’t _care_ what people think of you. You make a _point_ of not giving a damn and being proud of it.” It had, after all, been the major issue to cause John to storm off prior to his kidnapping and the ‘showdown’ with Moriarty and the Beta couldn’t help glaring a little up at the other.

“I care what you think of me,” Sherlock said, his voice strangely quiet.

That hit a little too close.” Because I’m now suddenly interesting? Because your biology urges you to appease a possible mate?” John found himself snapping. He blinked and then swallowed. “Sorry. That was uncalled for. These blasted hormones are still messing with my mood and temperament.” Standing up, he smiled somewhat tentatively at Sherlock. ”Perhaps we both need the space, yeah? Or at least I do.”

“No.” Sherlock grabbed hold of him again by the arm, staring the smaller man down with pale, calculating eyes. “You’re not going anywhere. We can sort this out between us. You’re mi- my blogger and I won’t see you tackled by any Alpha who thinks you’re just a piece of delectable flesh for them to devour.” The detail that he’d been about to do just that to his friend only hours before was one he carefully left unsaid. “You might no longer be in Heat, but your pheromones are still trying to entice any Alpha close by. This is the safest place for you.”

“How many times? I _can_ take care of myself.”

“Yes. I know you can. You have always been strong for a Beta, both in body and in mind. That is one of the things that make you so fascinating. But your body is no longer yours, John. An Omega is supposed to be submissive, especially to Alphas, and your body is trying to be just that. Even now you’re leaning towards me ever so slightly.”

John jerked away as far as he could, the hold on his arm not relenting. “Blast it! No. I could overrule it during a bloody Heat while I was being showered in Alpha pheromones, I can definitely handle standing close to one Alpha idiot genius now.”

“But can you take on a whole group of unbonded Alphas eager to mount and bond with you when you’re still reeking of Heat?”

The Beta cursed, rather inventively in Sherlock’s opinion and for some time. “I am going to _kill_ Moriarty.”

The Alpha smiled for the first time in what felt like ages. “I’ll make sure you get second...what’s the term? Dibs?”

“Second? Why second?” John asked, sounding a little perplexed.

“Because I am going to hunt him down in whatever hole he’s crawled into and when I do, I am going to rip him apart,” Sherlock answered, still smiling but with a dark, stormy expression raging in the depths of his eyes. “Extremities first and then cauterized, so he’ll be alive through all of it. Fingers take extra long with all the joints they have. Perhaps I’ll cut off his knot first, as a separate thing. Then I’ll stop just before his heart gives out and sew him back together, so you can have the pleasure.”

“Burn your heart out, rip him to shreds,” the doctor mumbled, equal parts amused, horrified and oddly touched.”No wonder you need each other; it must be like having a mirror image.”

The grip tightened and John had to wonder if it was even a conscious action on the detective’s part. “This time he has gone too far. There is no excuse.”

At that moment, John’s phone chimed with an incoming message, taking his mind off asking why _exactly_ his being injected was going too far but letting people act as pieces in a game of Stratego had been just fine as a part of ‘the game’. He fished it out of his trouser pocket with his free hand, managed to open the text after a bit of fumbling and was surprised to say the least by the message he had received.

_From: Unknown_

_Subject: Dinner tonight?_

“That rather proves my point, doesn’t it?” Sherlock’s baritone voice rumbled, far too close for comfort to the doctor’s ear. “She clearly wants you. Even though you’re no longer in Heat, she still wants you. But she can’t have you.” There was again that possessive undertone that John secretly found very pleasing and arousing.

“She probably thinks I’m still in Heat. Before she got a proper sniff of this new hybrid scent, she had no interest in me. I’m only a novelty item at the moment. When I go back to normal, she’ll lose all interest.”

“You will...want to go back?”

John gave Sherlock a _look._ “Of course I do. I am not an Omega; I can’t act like an Omega and I don’t want to be treated as one. I haven’t got an actual womb, so there’s not even any biological reason for me to be one. It’s just Moriarty messing things up for me...for both of us. It’s best if things stay the way they have been.”

“There might not be a way to go back,” the detective pointed out. “To override the phenotype and cause it to take on the dominant other blood type most likely requires both the Rh negative and the recessive genes of the Beta. Even if your blood is now only OB negative, changing it back would be close to impossible, as the Omega blood will override any new Beta blood injected into the bloodstream.”

For a while, they stood staring at each other, the implications of that and the subsequent horror for John slowly sinking in. Luckily Sherlock was still holding on to the stockier arm, so that when the doctor’s knees started to buckle, he was able to keep him upright long enough to drag him back into a chair.

“I am buggered. Literally. God. What the hell do I do? I can’t be an Omega, Sherlock, I _can’t_!” he moaned, clearly starting to have a panic attack. With what seemed like some effort, John took a deep breath and pulled himself together. “Right. Okay, sorry. These mood swings are bloody frustrating.” He took another breath. “I can handle this. It’s just the hormones trying to pull a fast one. I’m fine.”

Sherlock almost growled at the smell of distress emanating from his friend. He knew that strictly speaking it was mostly his biology doing the thinking, but to know John was in pain, that he was suffering both physically and mentally because of Sherlock’s blind devotion to The Work as well as the thrill of the game and the utterly sick bastard he’d been playing it with was absolute torture. The further knowledge that there seemed to be no possible way of reversing what had happened and was still happening to his blogger and friend made him sick to his stomach on top of everything else.

“Nothing has to change, John.” It was a weak attempt at consolation and they both knew it, even if the consulting detective did want to believe it very badly indeed.

John let out a slightly high-pitched, bitter bark of incredulous laughter. “ _Everything’s_ changed, Sherlock. To the point that I am most likely going to end up something so far removed from the person I am now that no one will ever make the connection between the two. I think what you meant to say was that we carry on regardless.”

“You’re panicking.”

“Brilliant observation; you must a detective, being so observant.” John took a few more deep breaths. “Sorry. I calm down and then all of a sudden I feel the panic and conflicting emotions rising again.” Another breath. “I suppose I should be grateful that it’s taken me this long to get to panicking.”

Sherlock reacted in a way that seemed to shock the both of them; he dropped to his knees in front of the chair, grabbed hold of John and pulled him forward, towards him. “Just breathe. Listen to my heartbeat.”

“It’s your scent that is the trouble, Sherlock,” the Beta countered in an exasperated tone, voice muffled against a chest that by all rights should be protruding and scrawny like a pigeon’s, but was wiry and strong instead. He did calm down eventually, though, breath slowly evening out and returning to a semblance of normal without there being any sign of the panicked gasps coming on again.

“I’m sorry for all of this.” He tried to pull away then, the array of conflicting emotions still rolling around inside of him, but was only successful in pulling the other man with him who kept looking at him earnestly.

“Don’t you dare apologize for something that you had no say in. We can work through this. You are right; this should not be allowed to tear us apart. Clearly that is what Moriarty wants. We will work around it, somehow, and we will still be Sherlock and John, detective and doctor, not Alpha and Omega. I don’t know how to yet, but there has to be some way of turning you back. If it can be done, it can be undone.”

John studied the sharp features for a moment, marvelling somewhat, in some distant part of his brain, at what it took for the consulting detective to issue something approaching an apology.”You’re sure you can control yourself? It is very likely my scent is only going to get stronger from now on. If my body think it’s Omega and supposed to produce offspring, it will seek to try and entice the Alphas around it more and more in order to get bonded and...bred before it hits menopause. I don’t know if I will have another Heat, but it is extremely likely. I don’t want to think of what a potential true Heat might do to you if a...a mock-Heat or whatever it was proved capable of rendering you so...addled.”

Sherlock was quiet. John had a very good point. Even now, as the effects of the Heat had mostly dissipated, he wanted to grab hold of the other man, not necessarily in an effort to mate him, but certainly to mark him somehow and keep him close. The Alpha in him was urging him to do just that; to mark what was his, to make sure nobody would separate him from his perfect Omega, to bond with him.

But if it was purely because of that biology and John had no actual say in it, it would only make the situation worse. The Beta-turned-Omega had made it abundantly clear several times over the last 24 hours that _he_ wanted to be the one to make the decisions, not his body or Sherlock’s. The younger Holmes understood that perfectly well, as he had always scorned and repressed his own share of the biological imperative of the secondary genders and he loathed what it was doing to them now. Not to mention the horrifying feeling of not being the one in control of his body, of it being the one to tell his brain what to do rather than the other way around even as his mind was lost in the haze of lust; he could more than understand why this slow transformation into something so dependent on instincts and biology was affecting John as it was.

“I...cannot guarantee that.” He held up a hand to forestall any comments John might make. “No, hear me out. Please. I want to say yes, that of course I have the self-control. Normally I have nothing but, which you are more than aware of, but I have never been close to an Omega for any extended period of time,” _not to mention that the Omega in question is_ you _, John_ ,” and therefore I have no way of knowing how I am going to react. But I _will_ be employing all the self-control that I have; I can at least guarantee you that. As for your Heat...we deal with that if and when it happens. The most important thing at the moment is making sure your secret is kept a secret.”

The doctor looked puzzled for a moment. Then it dawned on him. “But suppressants are expensive and it will attract attention if I suddenly am either back to smelling like a proper Beta or like nothing at all. Oh, shit. The guys down at the Yard must know, too. I’ve spend so much time around them.”

Sherlock snorted, eyebrows raised and a bemused smirk playing on his lips as he stood up. “That is hardly going to be an issue. As I have pointed out time and time again, people are stupid. They see, but they don’t observe.”

“Same could be said for you in this case,” the Beta pointed out. He stood up as well; there really wasn’t much choice when Sherlock was pulling at his arms. He got a pointed, haughty look for his troubles.  “Both of us, really. How did we not spot it?”

He went towards the kitchen; for a true Englishman tea could almost save the world on its own and he needed a cup. ” I suppose I should be grateful to Irene, somehow. If I hadn’t had an inkling of what was really happening to me, why my scent was different, I’m not sure I’d have been prepared enough to stop you in time. Wait. If she could figure it out, others must have known as well...like all my patients!”

 _“All_ of your patients?” the Alpha’s voice, close behind him, had dropped an octave or two, getting a jealous and slightly dangerous edge to it. “You’ve let them close to you like that?”

John felt a pleasant tingle run down his spine at the tone even as he rolled his eyes. “Of course I have. I can hardly examine people from ten feet away, can I? Oh.” He blinked. “That’s the reason all those Alphas tried to touch me and why that young Alpha came on to me.”

Before the doctor had a chance to do more than squawk, he was pressed against the kitchen counter, a jealous, biology-driven Alpha behind him, nose buried in the crook where neck met shoulder. He had to admit it felt...very nice, even outside of Heat, but there was no way he was going to just submit and let himself be manhandled like that.

 “Sherlock, would you please cut that out? I am still capable of punching you out if I have to and I will do it, believe me. Christ, I don’t need suppressants; I need something that can circumvent your uncontrolled biological response. I didn’t know your body was _that_ desperate to breed an Omega.”

The detective lifted his head from John’s neck and blinked a few times, seeming to regain his senses. He straightened up and took a careful step back and then another. “It’s...please refrain from letting other Alphas touch you in future. It seems I am not entirely capable of controlling my body’s response as yet.”

“I can’t just avoid every single Alpha merely because your body gets jealous!” John burst out, exasperated. He turned around and got a proper look at his friend and his expression softened. Sherlock was no more in control of his body than he was; in fact he was even less so, if the responses both during his Heat and this whole conversation was any hint at all. It wasn’t his fault he was reacting the way he was, any more than John could help his reactions, and it was more than unfair to punish him for it.

An idea had been creeping up on him. “Can you...can you make something, a spray perhaps, that’ll tone down the scent? Turn it back into Beta with that indefinable something? At least that way I can go out in public without people treating me any different than they have for the last few months.”

Sherlock looked at him in surprise at the suggestion; then his eyes got a distant look as he contemplated his ability to comply. He nodded after a moment. “Yes. That should be possible. At least as a temporary solution.”

“We live our life in temporary solutions,” John answered, a relieved smile breaking out on his features. “Thank you. I don’t want this to ruin things between us. Everything may have changed, but if...” he paused, gathering courage, “if it is possible, I would like our friendship to be as constant as we can get it. It’s something I treasure.”

The Alpha only nodded, but it felt like more of a concession than that. Feeling even more relieved, the doctor walked past him, unconsciously giving his arm a squeeze on the way. “If you do that, I’ll go and...Well, since I’m stuck here for the time being, I might as well see if there is some way the hormonal swings can be toned down some.”

Sherlock, still frozen to the spot, watched his blogger and friend grab his laptop from the living room table and make his way up the stairs to his own room. Even now he wanted to go after the shorter man and curl around him. What he hadn’t told John was that whenever he breathed in the new Omega scent, devoid of the additional Heat pheromones, he felt his mind becoming quiet and calm. Not dull, but lacking all the frantic deductions that normally plagued it. That, however, was not nearly as frightening or dispiriting as the knowledge that it wasn’t only his body that wanted John, Omega or not, and that all of this had blown his chance of owning up to it and being believed completely out of the water.

He was definitely going to _kill_ James Moriarty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter to date and boy, did it get away from me. Sorry if it seems long-winded.
> 
> I *think* I managed not to go into too much exposition with the biology of it and all that. I know I'm probably not meeting the general rules of the omegaverse, but the whole phenotype determining secondary gender and consequences were part of my motivation for this story - and I am aware I'm playing around with the 'rules' of biology, too. 
> 
> Feedback is as always loved and cherished, constructive critisism included. Tell me your opinions and thoughts, I'd love to hear them (no flamers, though, please).


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time the guys venture outside goes less than well and when they get home they have an unwelcome visitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the wait on this one - RL has been shit and I needed a get-away for a bit. It's the longest chapter to date, though, so that's something, at least.  
> Thank you everyone for the wonderful, thought-out feedback you have showered me with. It has made the world of difference in keeping me writing even on dark days.
> 
> No beta or britpickers this time around, so mistakes, plotholes etc. are all my fault

The first time they ventured outside it was because John put his foot down and claimed that they needed ordinary groceries that were actually edible and a few days of total isolation had more than dwindled their supplies. Instead of the normal procedure of Sherlock merely grunting something in response to such a comment, when he deemed it worth noticing, as he lay on the sofa, the detective insisted on accompanying him to the nearest supermarket. He claimed the reason was to check if the spray he’d produced would be sufficiently effective.

John could only roll his eyes and agree, as he was at that point desperate to get somewhere that _wasn’t_ steeped in Alpha scent and extra pheromones proving that the Alpha in question was strong and virile and could protect both him and his offspring. It was heaven to his treacherous body, but it was driving his mind absolutely bonkers.

As soon as they stepped through the door, Sherlock laid a possessive hand on the small of the doctor’s back; or at least he attempted to. The attempt was aborted after a pointed look from John, which seemed to pull him back to his senses. He did continue to hover close by, however, seemingly intent on not letting anyone close to his friend. That was both terribly annoying and surprisingly sweet – for Sherlock, that was, John mused. The annoying side won, though.

At some point the doctor just stopped, which resulted in the taller man bumping into him. “Right. We’re also out of milk. If you go down and pick that up along with some eggs, I’ll see if I can find that tea you love.”

“John-“

The smaller man didn’t turn around. “I can’t smell anything except you, Sherlock. I haven’t been able to for bloody days and I’m going just the tiniest bit stir crazy overruling my body’s instinct. So unless you prefer me to just bend over and present, here,  going away for just long enough that I can get a chance of re-orientating and neutralizing my body is something you have to do. _Please._ ”

Sherlock was quiet for a moment, as he had to wrestle with the idea of doing just that to the doctor. It was still very appealing and his Alpha side certainly didn’t mind John not being able to smell anything but him. But Sherlock had to prove he could still rise above carnal urges, both to himself and to his friend, and so he nodded curtly, even though the man in front was hardly able to see it, and turned on his heel, coat swirling dramatically behind him as he stalked down the aisles, scattering shocked shoppers everywhere.

No sooner had John taken one deep breath when he moved to the tea aisle and gotten mental relief and physical torture to smell something that wasn’t consulting detective pheromones than another, pheromone-laden smell started permeating his senses. He was reaching up in an effort to get the tea that Sherlock liked the most.

“Why, hello there, gorgeous,” came a voice to the left of him. He felt a hand smooth over that inconvenient bare patch on the small of his back where vest, shirt and jumper rode up whenever he stretched sufficiently far. “Aren’t you a brave thing, straying outside smelling so absolutely delectable?” the male voice purred into his ear as the hand continued to stroke. The man sounded relatively young, but was oozing Alpha pheromones all over him. Pheromones that the doctor really could do without; he might have had a problem with the _amount_ his flatmate had been dosing him with, but at least Sherlock smelled _good_.

“Not really. Now please stop touching me,” John answered in a calm voice that brooked no argument. He got hold of the tea and settled back firmly on both feet, which in turn covered up the bare patch. The man didn’t let go, though; instead the hand settled on his hip, gripping.

“Ooh, feisty. I like that. Bet you’re a tiger in bed.”

The former Beta turned to look at his would-be assailant, neatly dislodging the hand on his hip in the process. Tall, muscular, tanned, unbonded young man with dark hair and cocky grin who had yet to reach his 25th birthday, he could probably pick up just about anyone. That he was favouring John of all people at all was just proof that the spray hadn’t been nearly powerful enough and that he was only interesting because of that.

“I’m sure I’m terribly flattered, lad, but perhaps you should set your sights on someone your own age?” He had no intention of causing a scene, so if he could diffuse the young Alpha’s interest verbally, that’s what he would do.

It didn’t seem to work; the young man’s smile just widened, turning into something rather predatory. “Nah. Omegas my age are all whiny, sheltered, pampered little twits. I like a guy with more...world experience,” he smirked and then had the damn audacity to _wink_. John decided this little tosser needed to be taught a lesson.

Before he had a chance to do more than growl, however, the young Alpha in front of him was grabbed by the collar from behind and yanked away from the doctor. Irrationally, John half-expected the words ‘you’re nicked!' to echo throughout the store, but instead he was treated to a view of Sherlock Holmes slowly pressing his long fingers into the younger man’s throat, still holding onto the back of his neck with the other hand, keeping him in place. The man struggled, but was soon unconscious and was dropped onto the store floor. The detective stepped over him.

“You can’t do that!” John burst out, getting angry. “Sherlock, I had this under control. You can’t go around assaulting people like that.”

Sherlock didn’t seem fazed by this in the slightest. “I am perfectly within my rights to discourage individuals trying to lay a claim on what isn’t theirs.” He grabbed John by the arm and practically dragged him towards the exit.

The doctor wasn’t having it, though; he dug his heels in as best he could on the laminate flooring. “I am not anyone’s, including yours, so you _don’t_ have any rights,” he hissed. “And even if you did, assaulting the kid is still a bit extreme.”

The detective merely snorted and gripped harder. “As it stands, it’s the most logical assumption people will make, which makes this all perfectly legal. Come along; you’re making a scene and you don’t like that.”

 _Oh, so_ I’m _the one making a scene?_ John thought dryly even as he complied and kept up with the Alpha striding along who still had a death-grip on his arm. _I’d have put my money on the bleeding bugger who goes around assaulting people like it’s all perfectly normal. Well, it_ is _for Sherlock, I suppose, but..._

Another realization slammed into his train of thought as he was dragged out of the store and down the street. “Oi, what about the food? We can’t just leave it in the trolley in there. We – well, _I_ need the food. Sherlock!”

The Alpha didn’t even turn his head as he continued walking swiftly down the street towards home. “I’ll order it online. Or we’ll get Mrs. Hudson to do it. You are not going anywhere outside of 221b until I can work out a properly _effective_ spray. Just look at what could have happened today if I hadn’t been vigilant. It’s not safe for you to wander around London with all kinds of unsavoury people.”

“Most of the time the unsavoury people I meet is because of _you_ ,” John mumbled, but kept quiet after that, not wanting a fight over such an actually not too important a matter. He knew well enough that Sherlock was trying to control his basic instincts and it had been a potentially dangerous situation.

Not that John wouldn’t have been able to _handle_ the arrogant, pretentious youth, but it was, he’d realized, probably not a good idea for what the world now perceived to be an Omega to attack an Alpha, young cocky bastard though he’d been. It was just not something Omegas did, even if they didn’t want the attention, and he would have drawn a lot of attention and might even have been reported. Another, older Alpha warning the kid off was far more acceptable, even if Sherlock had chosen a way that was somewhat over the top. But then again, that was after all how Sherlock _worked._

John let the death-grip on his arm continue until they reached 221 Baker Street. It was obviously giving the Alpha some sort of relief and it was an act of possessiveness he could live with. Truth to tell, he’d been gripped and held intimately by his mad flatmate often enough even before this whole debacle started, so it wasn’t something that he hadn’t dealt with plenty of times as it were.

Going up stairs like that, though, wasn’t an option and so he wrenched free. For a moment a look of hurt flashed across Sherlock’s face, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. Then pale eyes narrowed and he gave a snarl before bounding up the stairs ahead of John, causing Mrs. Hudson to shout about taking the repair of the stairs out of their rent.

John sighed and followed his friend up to their home. Sherlock had apparently smelt something and whatever it was had him riled enough to charge up the stairs. It was unlikely to be another drugs bust, because there were no police cars, no harassed looking Lestrade and no distressed landlady. It could be that they had an unwelcome visitor; a Beta’s sense of smell was very much dulled and while his changed body had heightened that particular sense, it was still very much in development and desperately stunted in comparison to a fully-fledged, born Alpha or Omega. Add to that the consulting detective’s skills of observation in general and it was no wonder that he had twigged something was amiss up in their flat.

When he neared the top of the stairs John could hear voices and there was no mistaking who had decided to intrude upon their mess. Apart from the scent signature that was not Sherlock’s, but close to it, emanating through the front door, only one person in the world could make Sherlock Holmes, Alpha consulting detective genius, react as explosively as what the doctor was hearing.

Both Holmes brothers fell silent and turned to stare when the front door opened and John stepped in, though the ex-soldier reckoned, quite dryly, that had more to do with his scent still wafting in the air than any particular interest in him.

“Ah. Mycroft, hello,” John said, taking off his jacket calmly and turning towards the kitchen. “I’m going to make some tea. Anyone else want some?”

There was no answer from either brother, but then he hadn’t expected there would be. Though what there was, he noticed as he filled the kettle and got down three mugs, was a rather pungent assault of pheromones, coming from two people at once with nothing to diffuse it.

It was far from rare for a family with Alpha-Omega parents to produce more than one child of the same gender, be it primary or secondary, and for families consisting of Beta couples it was the norm. He and Harry were prime examples of the latter. But for a family, even such a highly-bred one consisting only of Alphas and Omegas as the Holmes line, to produce two children of the same primary and secondary gender that were not single-celled twins was indeed a rare thing.

As the oldest male Alpha, it fell to Mycroft to be the head of the family and consequently be the one to secure the family line by finding a worthy Omega, bond and start producing heirs. That he had reached his fortieth year and had still failed to do ‘his duty’ was something of a scandal, John knew, and that not even the younger brother, even though he was a former addict and considered strange by Alpha norms, could be prevailed upon to further the line was nothing short of a tragedy.

That two such unorthodox Alphas who had so far both scorned the pressures and expectations society had tried to enforce on them continued looking intently at John – he could feel their gazes burning into him though he was standing with his back turned on them – _as well_ as pumping out Alpha pheromones like crazy should have been a clue to the former Beta that it couldn’t _just_ be his new gender that was making him appealing. If the Holmes brothers were inclined to be influenced merely by Omega pheromones, they would have fallen victim long before then.

John did consider this, but in the end he put the interest down to the novelty of a changed Omega as compared to one that was born Omega. A late presenter would smell sweeter, that was true, but there was still a vast difference between that smell and the one he was letting out. The fact that he had been changed so late in his life was probably a contributing factor, though.

He was under no illusion that Mycroft didn’t already know of his changed status. Apart from being as intelligent as his younger brother and more than capable of picking up on what the other had deduced about the smell, the unfamiliar pheromones mixing and trying to overpower Sherlock’s pheromones were proof enough that he was aware. Not that John had any intention of yielding to either of them, as enticing to his nether regions both of them were.

The kettle boiled and he poured the hot water over their last three teabags. “If you’re both _quite_ finished boring visual holes into my back and stinking up the place with pheromones, I’ll bring over your teas,” he said, back still carefully turned to them. “Then you’ll have to excuse me, as I have a phone call to make.” He took a deep breath through his nose, which he instantly regretted as it brought even more delicious smells into his nostrils and straight down his spine into his backside, making it throb. Damned Alphas.

“Oh, please don’t mind me,” Mycroft said in his usual calm, collected and slightly condescending manner. He was sitting in John’s chair, as prim and proper as if he was waiting on a dignitary at some sort of palace or embassy instead of sitting at a rather rundown, messy flat in the heart of London; face set in careful neutral amicability, back suitably between straight and just slightly relaxed and hands placed lightly, yet firmly on top of the handle of his umbrella. He was the picture of the perfect English gentleman Alpha.

“Yes, please don’t, John,” Sherlock said, a sneer just barely being suppressed. He, on the other hand, was still standing, grabbing onto the back of his own chair with one hand while the other flexed against his thigh. It was clear that he wanted his brother out of his territory as fast as it was physically possible. He shot a pointed look in the direction of the ginger-haired man. ”Seeing as Mycroft was _just_ leaving, there really was no need for you to waste our precious tea on him.”

Walking into the living room with three steaming mugs of unsweetened tea, John couldn’t help rolling his eyes. Though the childish rivalry between the siblings represented another stable, secure point in a world that had suddenly tilted and spun around like some sick fairground ride, it didn’t make the bickering any less annoying and it was a little extra grating at that moment. He then fixed

“Sherlock, you know as well as I do that your brother comes and goes as he pleases – much like you do, come to think of it – and that if he doesn’t want to go, there’s nothing either of us can do about it. So as far as I’m concerned, we might as well just sit down and let him spout whatever nonsense he needs to tell us.”

Strangely, neither brother seemed displeased; instead they honestly looked _pleased_ at his response, though Mycroft’s eyes did seem to harden ever so slightly at the word ‘nonsense’, despite the pheromones he was still emanating. Sherlock, on the other hand, was actually beaming as if he’d been unexpectedly clever, which was ever so endearing, though John would rather chop his leg off than admit that out loud.

“Indeed, Dr. Watson,” the elder Holmes said, smiling with his mouth alone. “Though I would hardly call the news I bring for simple ‘nonsense’.” He paused, which John supposed was for dramatic effect. It was a Holmes speaking, after all. “I am not in the habit of being a mere newsboy, but this has relevance not only to you, but to your case and to the country.”

There was another pause. The normal inhabitants of 221b Baker Street knew enough that they ought to wait it out, so they were both struggling not to put out some sort of snarky, dry comment.

Eventually Mycroft continued. “Irene Adler is dead.”

“Again?” John and Sherlock asked simultaneously, twin looks of disbelieving astonishment written clearly on their faces.

“Wonder how long she’ll stay ‘dead’ this time around,” the doctor murmured after that as he took a sip of his tea. This earned him a snort of amusement from the consulting detective. It didn’t escape his notice either that at the mention of Adler, Sherlock had moved as close as he thought possible without being noticed. There were still protective Alpha hormones at play, then, it seemed.

Mycroft remained as he was, though he did raise one eyebrow. “I do believe that ‘this time around’ she is going to remain dead. Not only have we found the body – which we are aware was also the presumed case the last time – in a very mutilated state, we have a message from the one we presume helped her fake her death the first time. It...ah...” For the first time in the time John had known him, the elder Holmes looked visibly uncomfortable. “It’s for you, Dr. Watson.”

“Why would there be anything for me?” John asked, frowning. It was not a nice thing to think, he knew, but once again, the news of The Woman’s death filled him with nothing but relief. The jealousy he’d experienced the first time had lessened just slightly, though, as it was clear who Sherlock had picked, even if it was only because of biology. John would take what he could get, loathe as he was to admit it, even to himself.

Instead of replying, Mycroft fished a small recording device out of his suit pocket. Wordlessly he handed it to the doctor, who took it rather apprehensively. He actually had a pretty good idea why a message addressed to him of all people might have been left with the body of Irene, but it was not a thought he relished. There was nothing for it but to get it over with.

 He pressed the play button.

Out of the tiny speakers a hauntingly familiar voice crackled. “Hello, Johnny boy – and of course our lovely Sherlock, too. He shouldn’t be too far away. It’s me, Jim. Hi-iii!” As if either of them could have forgotten that voice or its owner.”So sorry to leave a message like this. Terribly bad manners of me, I know, but well...whatcha gonna do? Couldn’t leave a phone there – some little toe-rag might steal it. I know – what _is_ the world coming to?”

There was a pause, as if the speaker was waiting for some sort of response that he wasn’t going to get. “Did they tell you where I put this little thing, Johnny? Where on Irene’s body they found it? You’re frowning – oh, but I forget, you’re a _doctor._ You _care_!” he spat, managing to sound both disgusted and amused at the same time.

 The sound of a breath being taken could be heard. “You might have taught her better how to say ‘aah’ and open wide when something’s stuffed down her throat, though. Alphas don’t really try out that otherwise, now do they? Oh, she made such pretty noises, mind. Such a good little tart,” Moriarty crooned. Then his tone changed to something hard. “Dangerous to play where she wasn’t wanted, though. Not safe. Could get burned, poor thing, or torn to shreds.”

John shuddered at the yo-yo quality to the madman’s voice and mood. Then he could hear a chuckle, dark and low. “You see, Johnny boy, she was taking liberties that wasn’t hers to take. For all I care, she could have had Sherlock if she wanted, but then she had to get greedy and after all, greedy people do get punished, don’t they? You are off limits and she just didn’t understand.” Another pause and the former Beta could practically _see_ the big brown eyes looking so very innocent and the mad grin playing around his lips. “We couldn’t have that, could we? Especially when I’ve got something _special_ planned for you!”

“Ah...thought you’d already gotten your present, didn’t you? Well, you’re oh so WRONG!” The tiny speakers on the device had difficulty handling the sudden volume, the sound going screechy and scratchy as a result. “I wouldn’t leave you with just a puny little gift, now would I? No...I don’t intend to tell you, though I look forward to see you finding out what it is. Oh, Sherlock!” he suddenly purred. “I have to apologize – you do know how to pick them. He is anything but dull! You have no idea how much _fun_ this all is. Watching you, watching your little pet, watching how you struggle.” There was a suppressed giggle. “Perhaps old Mycroft will lend me use of his little cameras, spying on everyone everywhere. Would you, Mr. Holmes? I know you’re in the room – thank you ever so much for delivering this for me. Perhaps I can use it if I say pretty please? Oh, but then I have actually already been making good use of it for quite some time. Ooops. My bad!”

“Ah, but just look at what you’ve done now, Johnny. Made me go on and on – he does that, doesn’t he? Naughty boy you are and you know what happens to naughty boys,” the voice lowered to a hiss, barely audible with the small speakers. “Gotta dash now – oh, but I forget! Do be a dear and check in your coat pocket, won’t you, Sherlock? I think there’s something there your brother would _die_ to get his hands on. See yo-ou!”

The click signalling the end of the recording was very audible in the complete silence of the flat. Only then did John look up from the small device to the astonished realization that not only was Sherlock hovering just behind him, Mycroft had risen from his seat and was looming close in front of him. The air was even thicker with scent than before, though this time it was in an effort to calm, soothe and protect.

 As he fought to keep his body from leaning into either body in an effort to bask in that comfort the scents offered, John realized he had to be sending out a distressed scent of his own – an Omega’s nature making up for its insufficiency in protecting itself. Annoyed, he silently vowed to find _something_ that could keep those blasted hormones in check. This was getting way past the point of ridiculousness.

“Yes, _thank_ you, both of you,” he said a little tartly, breathing through his mouth so as not to breathe in any more scent than he absolutely had to. “Never knew I’d be the filling in a Holmes sandwich,” he mumbled to himself and then immediately regretted the thought as it brought mental images he wasn’t prepared for and most certainly could live without.

Both brothers stepped back at that, but they continued to either glare at the other or steal glances down at John. He ignored those and made his way over to his own armchair where he let himself drop down into it.

“So...Moriarty killed Irene Adler.”

Mycroft turned slowly, fixing the doctor with a hard, inscrutable look. “Indeed. I admit to some curiosity when I first heard the recording in regards to your ‘present’ and why he addressed it to you.” He took a careful, deliberate sniff and raised an eyebrow. “Now I see why.”

“Oh, do you now, Mycroft?” came the drawling voice of Sherlock. ”I’m so glad. Perhaps you’d care to enlighten us both.”

“As if you don’t know perfectly well already, Sherlock,” the ginger fox returned calmly. “Your scent is all over the poor doctor, which is unusual and quite telling in and of itself, but underneath his own scent is rather pungent and certainly quite different from last we...met.”

“Is this you referring to the most recent time you had me kidnapped, then?” John asked in falsely sweet tone of voice as he leant forward, elbows coming to rest on his knees. He really had had enough bullshit for one day, he was starting to feel guilty that Irene had died because of him, his mind was a mess of roiling emotions and his traitorous nether regions reacting because of the double assault of powerful pheromones was not helping any of those matters. “I am _really_ not in the mood for either of you two and your bloody twisted ways of interacting with other people at the moment, so let’s get to it, shall we? Yes, I now smell like an Omega and am apparently capable of going into Heat. Yes, it is blasted Moriarty who’s responsible for this, though I still have no idea why he’s done it. No, I don’t have a uterus and no, I will _not_ let you or any of your underlings run tests on me to find out the whys, whats and hows of this.”

Mycroft was frowning, his Alpha side clearly displeased by having what it perceived to be a mere _Omega_ obstructing what it wanted. Out of the corner of his eye, however, John spotted that Sherlock, who had elected to remain standing as well, was smirking. He probably felt he was being chosen over his brother, which had to be pleasing to _his_ Alpha side, let alone the usual sibling squabble mentality.

“But surely you realize-“

“Yes, I do, as a matter of fact, Mycroft. I might not have the intelligence level of either of you, but I am not stupid. This is my body, however, and though it may not be entirely under my control at the moment, it is still mine and it _will_ do as I want it to.” The last part was said as much to his body as it was to either Alpha.

“There is nothing you can offer me that I want.” _What I want neither you nor anyone else can give me, so kindly piss off_ , he added mentally. Now unless you intend to drink that tea, I’d like you to leave. Again, I might not be a genius, but I _do_ know how to punch your lights out if I have to. Ask Sherlock if you don’t believe me.”

To John’s surprise, Mycroft smiled; a smile that reached his eyes, of all things. “I can quite see why Ms. Adler might have...what was the term? Overstepped her boundaries. You are an interesting man, as always, Doctor Watson. I trust you won’t let this newfound biology get the better of you. That would be such a terrible shame.”

He gave a curt nod and tapped the floor with his umbrella before turning and moving towards his brother. He grabbed hold of one bony shoulder, which caused the other to stiffen, and leant close.

“Make sure you don’t let this one go, Sherlock,” he whispered into the detective’s ear, so quiet that the doctor wouldn’t be able to hear. “It’s only going to be a matter of time before Alphas all around him will start squabbling to get hold of him. He has proven quite worthy of you, time and time again, as a Beta and now as an Omega. Now prove that _you_ are worthy of _him._ ”

He smiled again and patted the shoulder. “Do give me the phone that was stuffed into your coat pocket. It is a matter of national security, after all,” he added in a louder voice, holding out his free hand.

John watched with slightly narrowed eyes as Sherlock fished out a familiar phone and placed in Mycroft’s palm. The elder Holmes gave another curt nod and strode to the front door. Before he exited through it, he turned his head and gave a tight smile. The smile widened when his eyes rested for a brief moment on John before he nodded and exited the apartment.

The silence echoed through the room. John looked at his friend, frozen to the spot with a frown plastered across fine features.

“I never thought that being around both Holmes brothers could get _worse_ , but adding the ability to smell pheromones to the mix...phew!” John joked.

Before he had a chance to react, Sherlock was pulling him up out of the armchair and wrapping his lanky body around the stockier man. There was no attempt at marking or anything of the sort, however. It was just a bone-crushingly tight hug.

“Sherlock?”

“I can’t lose you,” the Alpha muttered into the doctor’s neck, sounding surprisingly panicked and wrecked. “Not to Moriarty, not to Mycroft, not to this damned biology. _Please_ , John.” He clung tighter.

John felt his heart break; this was wrecking them both more than he had thought. He wrapped his arms around the other. “You won’t. I promise. I’m right here, always. Whatever it takes, we’ll stick together, yeah?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gods...so long and so little happens. X( Sorry. And Moriarty never gets easier to balance, for some ungodly reason. That said, it's been fun to write. I won't apologize for killing off Irene, because there is a point. Bear with me and you shall see.
> 
> Feedback is as always loved and treasured (I'd still like the criticism to be constructive, though).


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Sherlock oscillates between his normal behaviour and his more protective, more Alpha side, John decides to go and do some more research on his 'condition'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...honestly didn't think I'd have such a struggle with it that it'd take this long (and RL hasn't helped in that). Apologies for that.
> 
> HOWEVER, the response has been overwhelming and I thank all of you for the kudos, the subscriptions and very much the comments. It's still such a wonderful treat to get :D :3
> 
> Still no beta or britpicker, mistakes and plotholes are all mine

A case came in only the day after Mycroft’s visit, in the middle of the morning, and the doctor actually breathed a tremendous sigh of relief; there would be something to keep Sherlock’s mind occupied _other_ than the effects biology was having on their bodies and John could get to interact with other people, even if it would probably just be the people at the scene of crime.

When he made to get his bomber jacket, however, he found his flatmate standing in front of him, arms crossed and a look that clearly expressed disbelief in what the doctor was doing. John lifted one eyebrow in response and cocked his head.

“You are not going anywhere, let _alone_ close to those idiots Lestrade is in command of,” said Sherlock, his voice as pompous as ever and tinged with the slightest hint of a growl.

John’s eyes narrowed. “If this is your attempt at protecting me, you can stuff it,” he ground out. “I have told you before – I can take care of myself. I didn’t need you to go Alpha down the shops yesterday, either.”

“I have not yet finished the spray to dull your scent with sufficient effectiveness and your scent is wafting everywhere. It would prove nothing but a distraction to have you on the scene and you’re not fit to be going anywhere on your own.”

The dismissive words and the cold, distant demeanour would have worked significantly better prior to the whole mock-Heat debacle and at that time John probably would have believed them. Now, however, the images of Sherlock very much not in control of not only his body, but his mental responses as well was seared into the mind of the former Beta.

 It wasn’t so much the initial reaction to the Heat and the subsequent behaviour as it was the emotional turmoil afterwards that convinced John that the asexual, sociopath image was just that; an image, a facade. When he’d been privy as well to the wrecked, desperate, _haunted_ look the detective had worn the day before when he’d clung to the smaller man, it was even harder not to feel the tiniest amount of hope; for their friendship and possibly also for his heart.

That knowledge did nothing to stop John from getting angry, though, and neither did the fact that he knew he might be overreacting as well, much to his regret.

“Would you bloody well STOP thinking like an Alpha for FIVE bleeding minutes?” he shouted, fingers balling into fists as he glared at the other. The outburst seemed to help calm him down again, though, and he sighed. “Sorry. It seems like I’m no better, letting the hormones and my temper get the better of me.” He smiled wryly. “I suppose I should be grateful you’ve graduated from a spoiled five year old to a spoiled teenager, but...” He looked up, expecting another scathing, dismissive remark to come from his flatmate.

What he instead saw was the same raw, wrecked look he had seen the day before and with a start he realized that there was several more layers to Sherlock’s motivation for keeping him at home than he thought. The idiot genius couldn’t say them out loud; it would be too much out of character and what with the flag John had given him over the past few days _for_ acting out of character, he couldn’t really be blamed for keeping silent.

It was still shocking, though, to see open emotion that didn’t seem faked or manipulative on the part of the Alpha and he felt like an utter berk for being the reason for it.

Then Sherlock surprised him again; his face twisted and he almost grabbed hold of John once more, only stopping just short of touching. “There is still a strong possibility that Moriarty might do something to you.”

That concern John could understand, though there was another point to it. He put a hand on the taller man’s arm. “Sherlock, he’s mad. Completely and truly gone fishing. What makes you think that he’s not going to come waltzing through the door if he feels like it? If anything, I should be safer if I stay close to you, shouldn’t I?”

Sherlock stared; there was definitely an internal turmoil of indecision going on in that massive brain. Then his features froze into a mask of indifferent blankness and he turned on the spot, his Belstaff swirling and hitting John across the knees as it did so.

“An hour or two,” he called out as he pounded down the stairs, leaving the doctor standing in their flat, completely nonplussed. For about a minute.

“Fucking _bastard_!” John growled and charged after his flatmate, anger giving him the strength to overrule the impulse to follow orders and just stay put until the Alpha came back home.

“You are _not_ leaving me at home like some fucking housewife, you goddamn Alpha genius tosser!” he shouted as he reached the bottom of the stairs and stormed out of the front door only to see a cab pull away from the curb and speed off, a very familiar curly-haired head visible through the window.

He was just about to shout again, but with a growl gave it up as a bad case. There was no way he could catch up with the cab on foot, he hadn’t Sherlock’s magical ability to hail a cab successfully as soon as he stuck his arm up and if that wasn’t enough, he had no idea where the scene of crime even _was._

All in all it felt strangely reminiscent of the breaking and entering Sherlock had done in the case John had later dubbed ‘The Blind Banker’ on his blog. Apart from the whole Chinese smuggler thing – and that Sherlock hadn’t actually run _away_ from him back then.

“Blow this for a game of soldiers!” he grumbled. He stomped back up to the flat to grab his keys, wallet and jacket before slamming the door as he went downstairs and out the front door.

 There was no way he was going to stay at home just because he might be in danger. He had been a soldier; he’d served in a warzone and he’d been the friend of the most foolhardy, idiotic, headstrong man in all of London who actively sought out danger for quite some time. He could bloody well go outside without having some sort of chaperone with him, wafting, enticing Omega scent or not.

 

He’d debated actually going down for groceries while he could without having an obliviously protective Alpha hovering over him all the time, but had in the end decided against it. There would be too many other customers at that time of day and he really didn’t feel up to potentially having to physically subdue harassing Alphas.

So instead he went to the London library. Back when he’d only just been injected, his research into it all had yielded nothing, he knew that. But that had been on the internet and in his own medical textbooks and he hoped that with a better understanding of what had actually happened, he might have a chance of finding something relevant and hopefully _useful_ in the vast rooms filled with endless shelves of books that comprised the London Library.

He went over to the nearest free search computer, checked that nobody was close enough to read what he would be searching for, poised his hands over the keyboards and...stopped.

He had no idea what he should search for. He couldn’t very well type in ‘chemicals known to override blood type’ or ‘the history of gender reversals to fuck with people’ or something similar. As far as he knew, there were no known examples of this happening before.

He only just managed to suppress a slight hysterical giggle as the thought of typing in ‘madman hobbies’ occurred to him. Then he realized he might as well type in all of those he’d just thought of or at least their keyword equivalents. It wasn’t necessarily going to be successful, but it was a starting point and he could at least get a sense of what section he should start searching in.

Surprisingly, while there wasn’t exactly a book with a title like ‘A Case of Blood; Changing your gender with chemicals and hormones’, there were a few books on the importance of blood types in regards to gender and there was a single research paper on what chemicals could mess with a person in their early teens, pre- and post-presentation.

 It would be a start, at the very least. He noted down where the books where located and set off. There might even be some other useful books in the same area.

His phone vibrated in his jeans pocket just as he was pulling out the last of the books he’d jotted down the titles of. Ignoring it until he’d brought the book back to the others on the small desk he’d commandeered as his own while he searched, he did fish out the phone as soon as the book thumped down onto the desk surface.

_You’re not at home. Where are you? – SH_

John sighed as he slowly typed a reply. Sherlock really had to get a grip on the oscillation his behaviour was under; from his normal, sociopathic _Sherlock-y_ behaviour to this very possessive, overly protective Alpha behaviour. It was very endearing, but also very tiring.

_I’m at the library, which I’m sure you knew already. Wanted to do some more research. Did the case wrap up that quickly?_

The reply came surprisingly speedily; he had barely put the phone back down before it vibrated again. The doctor almost rolled his eyes as he read the message.

_You can do research on the internet. Come home. – SH_

_Yes and everything I find there is utterly useless. I’ll be back in a few hours_. _Don’t blow up anything._

The phone vibrated again as soon as he’d put it down, but he ignored it in favour of opening the first book. Short of actually turning up to drag him home himself, there wasn’t any way Sherlock was getting him back to Baker Street just because he’d now finished his case and didn’t want John to be out on his own. Whatever argument the consulting detective had for the whole thing, the doctor had no wish to hear it.

 

A couple of hours later found John still sitting at the desk, books strewn around him. He stretched and rubbed his tired eyes as he did so. It had not exactly turned out to be a fruitful search; in fact there had been almost no progress, as most of what he’d been able to dig up was things he knew already.

The ability to overrule blood type in particular there had been no mention of whatsoever, but then he supposed there wouldn’t be. Nobody wanted people to have the possibility of changing their gender at will; society was based on people’s gender assignations and their implications on the positions they could hold in life. Change that and you’d have a society in complete and utter turmoil – which might of course be the plan of Moriarty. John didn’t know and at the moment he really couldn’t care less.

It _had_ turned up a few pointers on what chemicals and hormones the body naturally produced throughout puberty to ensure the proper growth, in more ways than one, of the different genders. Being a beta male and an Army doctor he certainly had not known just how much hormonal trouble Omegas, both male and female, had to go through.

Oh, he’d had a few friends in his youth who’d turned out to be Omegas, but unlike Alphas, no Omega went around broadcasting their hormonal changes and their effect on their bodies. Even if they did, he had been a Beta and therefore of no interest sexually to either other secondary gender, so there had been no point in telling him anything or for him to know about it. Now it was a different story; his body was becoming Omega, if it hadn’t completed as much of the process as it could already, and given that the changes he’d experience seemed not unlike what young Omegas went through, he read on eagerly.

Towards the end of the book detailing the chemical stew adding more pressure to the whole messy business of being a teenager, he’d found a paragraph going over the adverse effects a suppressant could have on an Omega body going through puberty.

 At first it seemed like it had been written by an Alpha with the intention that Omega teens experiencing their first Heat would end up bonded by the end of it and he almost dismissed it out of hand, before he realized there was a point to it. The whole stew of hormones and chemicals was essential to the proper growth to adulthood and something like suppressants could interfere and cause severe damage.

Which in turn meant that he was in the same boat; until he’d been as unlucky as to experience his first full, proper Heat, suppressants would be out. His system was already in enough turmoil as it was and certainly didn’t need anything to further cause disruptions. He grinned humourlessly; Sherlock was usually capable of creating plenty of disruptions in their lives without John’s body to aid matters.

He stretched again and looked at his phone for the time. It had certainly been a few hours. In fact it was stretching towards late afternoon. The about two dozen texts from Sherlock he resolutely ignored. If Sherlock wanted to be his egoistic normal self _and_ be a possessive, overly protective Alpha, it was nothing to do with John. No matter how much he might love the mad bastard, and he did, he wanted Sherlock to choose him for his person, not for some idiotic biological imperative. He resolutely told his treacherous body that on a regular basis as well.

As he gathered up the books he’d been using to put them back on their shelves, he heard the sound of another incoming text. Annoyed, he pulled the phone out of his pocket, expecting it to be another selfish demand from his friend.

It wasn’t. It was no number he recognized, but as he started reading, he paled; there was no doubt who had been the sender.

_Look at you, so serious in your studies. I begin to see what drew Sherlock to you in the first place. Shame there is so little information, isn’t it? Oh, but I feel like being nice. You might want to look at the bottom of your pile – left you a little present._

John kept his head down when he finished reading, the instinct to snap his head up and look about for any sign warring with his soldier side telling him not to alert the potential enemy he was aware of them. The military training won out, but to his dismay, not to mention slight horror, he noticed how it was gradually becoming harder to overrule what his body was telling him. The thought that one day, possibly sooner than later, he would be at the mercy of what his new Omega body wanted was a terrifying one and he made a concerted effort to push it to the back of his mind. There were plenty of other things to worry about as it was.

He typed back, as slowly as ever.

_I already know there’s no turning the process around and you can’t make me a proper Omega without a womb, so why? If you wanted to mess with Sherlock, why not just find someone already an Omega and make_ them _irresistible to him? Why not Irene?_

The last line made him realize something he wasn’t proud to admit; he still felt somewhat hurt over the fact that Irene had managed to interest Sherlock. Interest him not only intellectually, but physically and biologically as well, _despite_ his so-called sociopath tendency, her being an Alpha and his biology not being supposed to react to anything other than an Omega. She had managed to make him interested in _her_ , as a person, not some biological imperative that he couldn’t overrule and that hurt. The thought that Moriarty’s killing of the Alpha dominatrix had actually been an advantage to John’s chances and that he’d felt _relief_ as the first emotion when he’d heard was not helping either.

He pressed send anyway; if the consulting criminal deemed it worth a response, John had a chance of getting answers to questions he really wanted the answers to and if not...he would be no worse off than he was at the moment.

The reply was surprisingly prompt, but it held none of the answers the doctor had known he wouldn’t get. As he read, he almost wished he hadn’t answered the text at all.

_Oh, Johnny boy. You are_ such _a naughty boy. Wanna  come play with me?_

_John. I have been more than reasonable. You are coming home_ now _or I_ will _come and get you. – SH_

The text from Sherlock came in just as he’d finished reading the one from Moriarty. The former Beta slumped against the desk as his knees buckled ever so slightly. This was all too much to handle at one time; the horror of that text from Moriarty, the uncertainty of what would happen to him, the annoyance at the pompousness that was Sherlock Holmes and the relief and joy at the care that, to him, was laced through the message from his flatmate.

He noticed his hands were shaking somewhat as he clutched the phone, but he managed to type out a reply nevertheless.

_Don’t get your knot in a twist, Sherlock. I’m just heading home now. Might have found something useful._

John let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding until he let it out.  Home sounded like a fantastic idea, to both his body and his mind. It represented safety, even though he knew perfectly well that he’d been right when he said Moriarty might well decide to waltz into 221B Baker Street if he felt like doing so.

The doctor also knew that the criminal genius Alpha had been the one to pass by earlier when he’d been absorbed in his reading; there was something familiar in the fairly recent scent of Alpha, something he’d unconsciously associated with the pool incident, even if he’d barely been able to smell it back then. It was something slightly rotten and faintly chemical and wholly unpleasant to smell.

 Why Moriarty had bothered to show up himself he didn’t spend too much time thinking on. The man had no regard for anyone and most likely didn’t trust his underlings – or he might do it for the heck of it. That did seem to be a thing for the consulting criminal, after all.

John put the books back where he’d found them and stuffed the notes he’d taken into his jacket pocket along with the small booklet that he most definitely hadn’t picked up himself without looking at it. there would be time enough for that when he came home.

Before he made it outside the building, though, he was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder. Thinking for a moment somebody had clocked that he’d stuffed a book into his pocket and was suspicious of him smuggling out library property, he turned around with an inward sigh and a forced smile, forming a sort of explanation in his head as he did so.

It was no library employee, though, but a woman in her mid-thirties. She was a very lovely looking woman, in his opinion, a little taller than him, with a motherly touch to her and a comforting scent. It was with a start he realized what the smell actually meant; she was an Alpha.

“A little brave going out smelling like that, love, isn’t it?” she asked, smiling at him even as she took her hand off his shoulder. “I’m surprised you haven’t yet been ravaged, to be honest.”

John could smell her scent wafting around him, but unlike Irene’s, it wasn’t trying to entice and that was very comforting to him. It was actually the first time he’d been able to just smell a proper Alpha scent without it being laced with pheromones since the whole sorry business started.

“Excuse me?”

“Your scent, love. It’s all over the place, beckoning like a sweet shop with its doors open. You’ve got every Alpha in the room sniffing the air every five minutes,” she explained with a small wink. She smiled again at his stricken expression, though this time it seemed a little sad as well, though he couldn’t tell the reason. “Oh, you poor thing. No wonder you smell so strongly. A Heat just passed and no Alpha to take care of you.” She made a clucking noise.

“How can you tell?” he blurted out before his brain had a chance to stop the words. The mirth sparkling in her eyes did nothing to help his embarrassment.

“Oh, you are precious,” she laughed. Then she noticed his genuine discomfort. “Oh, I’m so sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to patronize you at all. It’s just...everyone can tell, sweetie. Your scent is a dead give-away that you’ve just been...fertile and the slight undercurrent of an Alpha lingering on it tells everyone that they need to hurry if they want to secure you for themselves. It’s biology.”

John shrugged, trying to pass it off. “I’m a doctor; I tend to have a lot of Alpha patients who touch me. It sometimes lingers.”

Her eyebrows knitted together at that and she leaned closer to him. “It...really isn’t that kind of smell, dear,” she said in a low voice. “Now I know it’s really none of my business, but whatever Alpha you’re living with, you might want to tell them to either do...well, _something_ or to back off. It makes other Alphas aggressive to have such a delectably smelling Omega close by and know that some other Alpha only had the balls to leave scent-markers on you but not do anything more about it.”

The doctor groaned inwardly. One bloody thing after another – didn’t he deserve just one little break from it all? Then he mentally took the time to curse Sherlock thoroughly for good measure, vowing to take it up with the consulting detective when he got back home. He _had_ to know he’d been doing that, the annoying, passive-possessive bastard.

Outwardly he found he could muster another smile, even if it was a bit crooked. “I suppose I must look a total berk, then, man of my age,” he said, trying to play it off somewhat as a sort of joke.

She smiled again and John couldn’t tell why she had remained unbonded at her – their – age. But then, that was probably stereotyping. She certainly didn’t seem like the typical Alpha, at least at first glance, which was a welcome relief to the poor doctor.

“Well, perhaps,” she admitted. “But then I probably look like a complete creep for coming up to you like that and just telling you. I tend to be a little too forward when I approach people.”

He grinned, then. "Actually, you’re pretty mild compared with what I’m used to,” he quipped. “I’m John, by the way. Thank you for telling me.” He held out a hand.

She grabbed it; warm, strong and assertive. Very much Alpha, but the caring, motherly feel about her gave an image that was quite out of sync.

“No problem at all, John. I’m Maureen, for my sins. Have you got transport or should I call you a cab?” She leaned closer again, giving him a clear view of her cleavage.

Not totally free of the typical, macho Alpha behaviour, then. Somehow John was pleased to know it didn’t _just_ annoy him when it was Sherlock doing it to him. “I can walk myself, thanks,” he answered in a mostly calm, if slightly cool voice.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Maureen said quickly, easily. “But if you don’t want half the library Alphas running after you all the way home, which seems increasingly like at this point, calling a cab would be the smart move.”

Loathe as he was to admit it, she had a good point. That didn’t mean he had to give in and just follow her authoritative behaviour nor his body’s instincts, however, even if it was only to be contrary.

“Yes, thanks. Thank you very much,” he said to her with a smile, raising his hand in thanks and as a farewell. He turned and once more headed for the main doors, keeping his walk as steady and determined as he could. Once more he thanked his military training for lending him even more backbone than he’d had to begin with.

Once he got outside, he looked about to see if there was any cabs around that wasn’t occupied and debated whether to ignore Maureen’s warnings and just walk home. He could do with some clearing of his head, but on the other hand he had registered the alert looks he’d gotten after the female Alpha had pointed it out. There was no reason to push his luck.

Amazingly, a cab did pull up after only a few minutes of him trying to hail one. As he got in, noting vaguely that the driver was a Beta, there was another text, but to his relief it was only from Sherlock.

_Even calculating possible tube troubles or the traffic congestion, you should be home by now. Why aren’t you? – SH_

Shaking his head, he gave the address and settled into his seat, watching the city pass by the window in the slow crawl that was the tail end of commuting hours. He spent the time wondering what would be the best way of approaching the talk of not only the research he’d done at the library, but also the additional information Moriarty had left him along with Sherlock’s apparent marking of him. It wasn’t that he particularly _wanted_ to talk about it, let alone with the very Alpha he’d fallen for and who was unstable in his behaviour at the moment to say the least; that was to say, even more unstable than normally, but he also knew it needed to be done.

 

By the time the cab pulled up outside 221 Baker Street, there was a familiar, tall shape with curly hair and an overly dramatic coat standing on the pavement. John barely had time to get out of the car, having been sensible enough to pay the driver before he got out, before he was grabbed by the crook of his elbow and literally dragged in through the door and up the stairs to their flat.

The former Beta struggled all the way up the stairs. “Sherlock, would you bleeding well cut it out? I can walk and I am not a toy you can sulk about when you can’t play with it and then drag around forcefully when you do get hold of it, simply to prove that it is yours.”

“You weren’t at home and you weren’t answering my texts,” came the surly reply as the taller man continued pulling at the arm of his friend.

“You don’t answer my texts half the time either,” John pointed out, more exasperated than angry. They’d reached the front door of their flat at this point and Sherlock pulled him inside. "Nor was I the one to just go gallivanting off to a crime scene or leaving scent marks on other people.” There, he might as well get it all out at one time.

Sherlock spun around to glare at the other, his pale eyes a storm of emotions. “No, but you _are_ the one finally coming home smelling of not only a host of faint Alpha scents, but a very clear Alpha female and,” he took a sniff dangerously close to John’s neck, “someone else as well. Someone...Moriarty.” His voice turned strange, dangerous and vulnerable all at once. “Why do you smell of Moriarty, John?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can tell I struggled with getting this into shape, I apologize. I also know this is probably going a bit slow, but there is a point, so stick with me, please.  
> Other than that, feedback is as always loved and appreciated, including the constructive criticism :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock attempts to discuss the situation and Moriarty, but tempers flare and things goes a little...off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently I left it on a bit of a cliffhanger that I didn't intend on. It was meant to go like this from the start.
> 
> Again, the amount of response, not to mention the quality of the comments, to this has been gobsmacking and absolutely wonderful. So thank you all :D
> 
> Do I have to say it by now? Not beta'ed or britpicked, mistakes and plotholes are my fault

John sighed as he closed his eyes. There really was no hiding it and in a way, perhaps that was for the best in any case. He needed to see what Moriarty had left him, for one thing and more than likely he’d need Sherlock to look at it as well.

Besides that, this whole not being certain what the other was thinking in relations to this new situation was getting not only old, but quite frankly deeply annoying and downright dangerous to both of them.

“I smell of Moriarty,” the doctor started, opening his eyes again and looking the other man in the face, “because I had a run-in with him in the library-“

He was enveloped in his very own Alpha body blanket at that, long fingers digging painfully into his back as they fought to bring him even closer.

“Sherlock, he didn’t do anything. Honestly, he didn’t.” He knew that mentioning he hadn’t noticed the man had been there at all until he’d received a text from him wouldn’t be the smart thing to do at the moment. The Alpha only tightened his grip even further, going as far as to hook one knee around the smaller man’s thigh. “Look, I’m here. I’m in one piece no markings,, no more bizarre stuff added to my biology.” _Lord, I do_ hope _not_ , he added internally. “Could you please let go of me? I really could do with a cuppa,” he said, trying to smile.

Sherlock did let go of him, but only so that he could hold John at arm’s length, with lips pressed tight together and narrowed eyes; he was clearly examining and deducing further than what he’d done at first glance. “He’s clearly done something or you wouldn’t be as rattled as you are, but what? He has only touched your neck briefly, not in a sexual way...your hands smell of him, too– he gave you something. A book – no, not a book, that would run the risk of being seen as you taking library property and it being confiscated. A book-like leaflet.” Still holding the doctor’s gaze, he reached out a hand and dug into John’s jacket pocket, retrieving said item.

John felt his exasperated annoyance creeping up on him again. Not only was the ignorance of ownership still slightly grating at times, there was still enough Alpha pheromones being pumped out from the taller man to make a bloke dizzy and it was making it harder to concentrate.

“Please give that back. It’s not that you can’t have it,” he added with an eye-roll at the frown on the detective’s face, “but you tend to squirrel away anything you find interesting for it never to be seen again and I want to read it first. It’s my body he’s messed with, so I have the right.”

There was no verbal reply, but there was a sense of reluctant agreement and the frown dissipated. Instead of giving John the book back, however, Sherlock spun and tossed it onto the sofa where it landed with a flutter of pages.

“Gods, you really are a child at times,” the doctor grumbled out. He took the opportunity to duck out and head for the kettle. If he was going to read that thing, he could do with a soothing cuppa, at least. He’d dismissed telling Sherlock of the chemicals that could potentially be successfully used for the scent-dulling spray, at least for the moment. There were other, more important things they ought to focus on.

Though he really should have at that point, the former Beta didn’t expect his flatmate to crowd behind him as he filled the kettle. It was exactly what happened, however, and as Sherlock placed his chin on top of John’s head, nuzzling into his hair in an apparently unconscious move.

It was almost domestic in its innocent bliss and for a moment, as he closed his eyes, John allowed himself the luxury of imagining just that scenario. It felt absolutely wonderful and left him somewhat weak in the knees, far more than any of the Alpha pheromones, from Sherlock or anyone else, ever had or probably ever would.

Steeling himself, he cleared his throat. Stepping back would only heighten his problem and moving to the side wasn’t an option. “Please stop sniffing my hair like that, Sherlock, it’s distracting.” As he clicked on the switch on, he tried to turn around, which he succeeded in after a few tries.

“Speaking of which, were you going to tell me that you’ve been leaving scent marks all over me? No, wait, of course you weren’t; forgot who I was talking to for a moment there,” he answered his own question, his dry sarcasm slipping into his voice, which was in a way a comfort. At least it was better than the uncontrolled anger he’d been subject to before.

He sighed again and made to duck underneath one of the arms bracketing him in, but was stopped by the other hand landing heavily on his shoulder. He looked up to see the pale eyes still swirling with something indefinable, at least to John. They bore into him as they searched his face, looking for clues as always, but they didn’t seem to find what they were searching for.

“You really don’t know?” Sherlock finally whispered; that strange mix of danger and crushing vulnerability was back in his voice and it made John’s mind uneasy and his heart crack.

Nevertheless, he had not a clue what his friend was on about.  “Why would I know? How would I know? More importantly, _what_ would I know?” he asked in exasperation, staring back. When he got no answer, he sighed and wrenched free, successfully managing to duck beneath the arm. The whistling kettle he ignored.

“I wasn’t able to smell any scents beyond occasional wisps, at least on a conscious level, before all of this happened to me,” he continued as he walked into the living room. “A Beta _can’t_ detect scents and pheromones like Alphas and Omegas, remember? We’re inferior in that, as well.” He dropped down into his chair, perhaps more heavily than was probably entirely smart.

“Even now it’s only my body that seems to know and react to the scents I can suddenly detect properly and at times on a conscious level as well. So how the bloody _hell_ would I recognize that you’ve put scent marks on me?” Something seemed to occur to him. “You did that when you were nosing around my neck back when...you...when I...was in Heat. Have you done that every time you’ve been close to my neck?”

A sound that John most certainly hadn’t heard before from his friend before echoed through the flat.

It was the sound of Sherlock roaring. It didn’t last long, but John managed to get a look as he turned in his chair at the frustration written plainly across the fine features even as scrunched up as they were.

When he stopped, his eyes bore into the doctor, stalking towards him. Sherlock’s face still twisted as a myriad of expressions flitted across it, too fast to pin down and identify and his fingers were twitching.

“How can you not know? How can you be so utterly _stupid_?” he snarled as came closer. He stopped when he reached John’s chair. They stared at each other, one man fuming, the other shocked.

Sherlock leaned over John, planting a hand on each armrest and effectively boxing him in once more. “Of _course_ I didn’t just start leaving scent marks on you when you went into Heat! Only an utter _imbecile_ would do something like that.”

“You weren’t exactly yourself at that point, Sherlock,” John pointed out in a quiet voice. _Or most other points of time since then, either_ , he added to himself, still rather taken aback by the sheer force of the outburst and the vehemence that lurked in those eyes that were fascinating to watch even on a normal day. “And Heat does often render the people involved rather...animalistic in their intelligence level.”

The consulting detective continued to stare at him, seemingly trying to will the smaller man to understand.

“I’m not a genius, Sherlock, nor am I particularly well versed in the ways of Alphas or Omegas, so how would I know? I didn’t even know Alphas left scent markers until someone at the library was kind enough to tell me that I have them clinging to me,” the doctor sighed, lowering his gaze after a while of being scrutinized. “Oh, yeah, and ta ever so for making other Alphas more aggressive in their pursuits by leaving the scent on me – like there wasn’t enough to deal with as it were.”

“Are you being dumb on purpose, John?” Sherlock asked, ignoring the last remark as he leaned even closer, face only inches from John’s by the time he stopped. “Why would I only start leaving scent markers on you after all...this started?”

_Because you’re responding to your biological imperative_ , the former Beta thought. “...Are you saying you’ve been doing it before, then?” was what he said out loud, coming to just that possible conclusion as he said it. “When? How? Why?”

The Alpha’s face was hovering so close by that point that for a moment John was quite certain he was about to be kissed. Before he had a chance to embarrass himself by closing his eyes and lean close, though, Sherlock jerked away, looking somewhat conflicted, and spun on his heel, swooping down on the small booklet lying on the coffee table.

“You said you’d done some research?” he asked, his voice not quite as calm and collected as he probably would have liked it to be, which somewhat assuaged the pain the doctor felt at being that close to something he’d wished for for such a long time and then be denied.

 It wasn’t that he hadn’t been scared of it happening, but that had had more to do with the Heat and the possible consequences of that mind-melting state. To have the possibility of a non-Heat-influenced kiss snatched away from him like that was adding insult to injury with the day he’d had.

He tried gathering his thoughts, turning them back towards what he’d been doing at the library. “Um...yeah, yeah, I did. Didn’t turn up much, but I did find something that might help in finding the chemicals you need for that spray.” He stood up, approaching his friend who for some reason hadn’t yet opened the booklet, but merely stood staring at it. “It looks like it’s even more necessary to make that spray than we thought, too.”

The detective looked at him, then, eyebrow raised, and John had to wonder at Sherlock’s ability to switch from emotion to absolute blankness so quickly. It was scary at times and more than a little worrying.

“It seems that for the first Heat, getting suppressants would be more harmful than helpful in the proper growth of young Omegas and since I’m basically going through the same they are, I don’t think it’d be a smart move to put my body under more stress than it already is.”

The doctor ran a hand through his hair, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden with the intense stare still piercing him and the realization that he would have to discuss how they were going to get through his first proper Heat and if it would be best for him to go somewhere else in order not to aggravate their relationship further. It had been hard enough to overcome both of their biological drives during his mock-Heat and he knew his body had only changed further into an Omega since then. Coupled with the fact that a proper Heat would be so much stronger and more insatiable, the ability to stand his ground seemed like unlikely. The best move would probably be to move out for the duration, though where exactly he would go he had absolutely no idea.

In his mental absence John found he’d once again gotten a consulting detective up close, though not touching him, and in some distant part of his brain, he couldn’t help wondering whether that was going to be a thing now, along with the immobility, the dramatic outbursts and the unblinking stare. Sherlock’s eyes kept flickering over his face.

“Why was Moriarty in the library in the first place? More importantly, why is he so actively seeking you out?”

“Perhaps to verify how far the process has come along? I don’t _know_ , Sherlock!” the doctor burst out, finally reaching utter exasperation. “For Christ’s sake, would you pick a mood and _stay_ there for more than a minute? Or at least stop sending out such different signals all the bleeding time!”

“ _I_ send out different signals?” the Alpha hissed, fixing John with a hard glare. _“I’m_ not the one who is sending out signals of distress, anger, arousal and rejection _all at once_ , am I, _John_?”

“Well, it’s not like I’m exactly in control of them!” the smaller man returned, annoyance building once more and with it the strength of his voice. ”I have had less than a week since I learned what has been done to my body and how it’s actually behaving, scents and signals and all. There is _no way_ I would have a chance of knowing what the bloody hell it’s signalling, much less how I control it. You, on the other hand, have been an Alpha all your life – you should bleeding well _know_ what scent and signals do. Actually, you _do_ know, don’t you? You just don’t _care_ what it does to other peo –”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. This time he was kissed, though it felt more like a slam against his lips as cupid bow lips descended. John struggled slightly, but the kiss ended almost as soon as it had begun, the consulting detective pulling back just enough to look at his friend.

“I can’t,” Sherlock growled, making John even more confused than he already was, until he continued.” I _can’t_ and it’s driving me mad. You do this to me, John. _You’re_ the reason I can’t remain detached and logical. I very nearly let a crime scene get mucked up by _Anderson_ because I kept thinking of you back here, all on your own, unprotected, and when you weren’t here when I came back, I felt like hunting you down and drag you home like some sort of Neanderthal thug. That...is not who I am. I am a man of science, not...this.” The genuine look of anguish on those fine features was unmistakable. ”I promised you I would control myself and I have failed utterly,” he added in a quieter voice, another, more unidentifiable emotion creeping in along with the anguish.

The doctor swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. So this was it, then. “Give me a couple of days, I’ll have sorted out somewhere to go by then, yeah?” he asked as he lowered his eyes in an effort not to see the other’s expression, aiming for a neutral voice and not quite managing it.

There was no response.

He took a step backwards, then another, trying to create some distance between them. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize before that it was affecting you so strongly. I...guess it would have been wise to move out sooner.” He gave a small smile, still not raising his gaze. “So much for staying like we’ve been before, huh?”

John turned, intending to head for the stairs leading up to his own room. If he packed a duffel bag with the barest necessities now, he could head out before things became too awkward between them, though as of yet he had no idea where he would go. He thought with a slight sense of bitter resignation as he walked that if he’d been quicker to move out, even if they’d both decided against it at the time, that they might have salvaged some sort of friendship.

He also briefly managed to contemplate that he was being rather maudlin over something he’d somewhat seen coming for a long time. It was the logical thing to do and once they’d put some distance between them and John had had a chance to get his new gender specific problems under control, they might even go back to being friends or at the very least solving cases together.

John had barely reached the top of the stairs before he heard feet pounding into the floor as they moved and for a second he thought they were moving away from him, out of the flat. As he heard them pounding on steps, though, he realized they were coming _towards_ him, just before he was pushed to the carpeted floor by the skinny, but surprisingly hard body barrelling into him.

The former Beta would have cried out his surprise, not to mention indignation, were it not for the air being squeezed out of his lungs by the body above him, rendering him only capable of an oomph noise. He was still capable of struggling, though, and so he did, attempting to get out from under his friend and the sensory onslaught he was bringing with him.

“You are not to go anywhere,” Sherlock growled in John’s ear, pushing down more heavily so that moving became next to impossible, especially as he also grabbed hold of the smaller man’s arms, . “You are not going to any place where you are not safe and you are _certainly_ not going where some Alpha will want to have their way with you just because you smell heavenly.”

“But if...if I’m such a...distraction to...the Work, then...it’s...for the best...that I move...out,” John managed to get out. “I don’t...want to...” He couldn’t get the last words out and it wasn’t only because breathing was still a difficult task.

“I never said anything about you moving out, now did I?”

“You didn’t...say anything...to the contrary...just now, either,” the doctor shot back, beyond annoyed with _very_ mixed signals Sherlock was sending off, twisting his neck in an effort to get to see his flatmate and glare at him. “Now...would you...please...get _off_...before I suffocate?” He bucked a little to underline his point, which unfortunately brought his backside in rather close proximity to the Alpha’s nether regions, making John groan in both frustration and delight with the slight air he was able to draw in.

In a swift movement, Sherlock managed to not only pull himself off John, but also to drag the smaller man up with him, effectively keeping him trapped still against his long, but surprisingly strong frame, much to John’s utter irritation.

“How could I say anything?” the consulting detective asked in a whisper. “You’ve practically been running from me ever since you had your...not quite full Heat. Not that I blame you; I would have rejected me as well, after what I tried to do.”

“No, you bleeding well wouldn’t – and I haven’t been running. I’ve been staying here, with you, when the smart thing to do _would_ have been to move out of here, to preserve what we had.” _That should tell you something in itself, Sherlock._ “It should have been bloody obvious that there really wasn’t any way we could hang on to just being...us. An Alpha and a Beta living together as flatmates is something so entirely different from an Alpha and an Omega...”

John’s sentence trailed off and became a strangled gasp when he felt soft lips descending onto the area of his neck left exposed by his jumper and with them came the graze of teeth, the sharper canines of an Alpha strongest among them. Goosebumps rose on his neck and it was not only because of the breath being expelled across his skin by Sherlock’s nose.

John supposed he really ought to be thankful towards Sherlock for always being able to do something that rendered indecision and the by now instinctual body response useless and powerless in the surge of sheer strong-minded Beta Captain John H. Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, doctor and blogger.

No matter what any biology, social norms or his own confused emotions tried to dictate, he was that and he would be buggered before he let any of those things bring him down.

It was most likely what made him able to wrest one arm free of the rather tight hold the detective had on him, swing it up to grab hold of thick, dark curls and pull so that the teeth were no longer anywhere near close enough to bite down and break the skin.

“See, this is what I mean about mixed signals, Sherlock,” the doctor said in a carefully neutral tone of voice as he continued to pull on the hair so that the lips wouldn’t reconnect with his neck and Sherlock tightened his hold even further. “You tell me you can’t deal with me being in the vicinity of you constantly and how it destroys your ability to focus, but when I take the logical step of then attempting to give you the space you want, you attach yourself like a bloody octopus and then bite at my skin like you want to make a _bond-bite_.”

“...I do...” The voice was so quiet John was certain he wouldn’t have been able to hear it if he hadn’t been as close to the other as he was. Even so, the sheer shock of what he was hearing was making him doubt that he had heard it at all.

“You _what_?”

“I want to bond with you, John.” The sincerity in the voice should have been a clue as to his true intentions, especially as it was also laced with the vulnerability from earlier, but to the doctor’s stunned and somewhat suspicious mind it just didn’t register.

“Pull the other one...” There was no response. “No, seriously, if this is your sick idea of a joke, you can damn well stuff it,” John growled. Then something seemed to hit. “No, wait...the next words out of your mouth is going to be ‘it’s the logical solution to the problem, John’ or something like it, isn’t it?”

The former Beta managed to get out of the other’s hold enough to be able to turn around and stare in incredulous disbelief and mounting anger. “It is, isn’t it? What, I should bond with you just because that will quieten your mind and help you return your focus to the Work instead of a biological imperative of wanting to shag the nearest Omega you haven’t managed to scare off five minutes after meeting them? You can’t possibly be serious!”

For a moment, Sherlock looked completely stunned and then indignation and anger crept into his features as well. “That is not the reason at all, but since you apparently insist on being as imbecilic as humanly possible today perhaps it is –“

“Well, what the hell _else_ am I supposed to think?” John cried in frustration, ebbing anger and exasperation, flinging his arms wide. “You haven’t exactly given any indication of being interested in _anything_ related to your gender specific biology, let alone relationships prior to this whole ordeal. Then when my body is so far along in its change that it starts going into a sort of Heat, suddenly you’re all over me because of the hormones,” he took a deep breath, “and _then_ when it’s over, instead of you just reverting to your old behaviour, which I’d have understood, you keep going between that and this overly protective side and...I just don’t...Why, Sherlock? For once, just give me an honest answer. I believe I deserve that much, at least.”

Sherlock didn’t give an answer for quite some time, instead seeming to retreat into his mind, though this time, as he wasn’t reclining on the sofa, without his signature thinking pose. The doctor was just starting to think he wasn’t going to get one and was about to turn and make good on his promise of moving out, at least as a temporary measure, when the taller man finally seemed to resurface and started to answer.

“I don’t do feelings, John. You know that I don’t.” The deep baritone voice came much slower than was usual as though the words were being dragged from him and the expression on the Alpha’s face was one that stopped John from uttering another sharp reply. “And I have certainly never had any regard for the biological imperative and the demands society places on the genders.”

He took a deep breath. “Then a man was thrust into my life who was not only a military man and a doctor, but a Beta who’d achieved the rank of Captain in Her Majesty’s very Alpha-dominated and discriminating Army. A man who could stand up to Alphas without any sort of extra fuss and could keep up with me – a man who was remarkable even when he was only an otherwise unremarkable Beta male and who has only become more remarkable after becoming an Omega male instead.”

 There was another pause and John got the feeling that something was being retracted and heavily revised inside that massive brain. “A man I consider my friend. My best friend. My _only_ friend. A friend I’d do anything to protect, including bonding with him – and especially from a madman like Moriarty. For all we know he might have designs on you that are more sinister than merely using you for an experiment.”

John paused. When it was put like that, it did make some sense. He still felt that what had just been said hadn’t been what had actually originally been going through Sherlock’s mind, but for what it was worth, even admitting to something like that was rather a big thing for the consulting detective.

Another thing was that in all his struggles to deal with this massive change itself along with all the repercussions and reactions it had brought with it, both in himself and in others, he’d perhaps forgotten a little why it was that he’d fallen in love with his consulting detective, not-so-sociopathic Alpha flatmate in the first place. It was because he was Sherlock Holmes, a man who could not only accept John as he was and make his life interesting in a way it had never been before, but was more than what his biology dictated, even now.

The thing was, he _wanted_ to bond with Sherlock. if there was one thing he could honestly admit to himself that he wanted from all of this, it was that and while his struggles had been because he refused to let it be because of some biological imperative, doing it as a result of them being at least friends was something he could live with, even if it wasn’t quite the reason he would have _liked_ it to be.

“Alright,” he said at last, taking a deep breath and stepping up against the other’s body, leaning close. To think that he’d been on his way to pack up and leave just a short while before. He felt a surge of relief and joy sweep through him. “If you put it like that...well, that I can live with.” He tilted his head up, relief written plainly on his face, which in turn seemed to surprise the Alpha. “You know, I do think it’s the first time you’ve admitted to us being friends.”

“Come your next Heat, when it’ll be possible to make the bond bite, we will be more than that,” Sherlock rumbled and John, with his head tilted down, completely failed to see the broad grin adorning the consulting detective’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It certainly didn't turn quite in the direction I had originally planned, but any attempts on another direction met with a block. So a lot of anger and angst - god, I didn't mean to - and no answers to the questions raised by the whole library-thing, but it will come, I promise you.
> 
> As always, feedback is loved and treasured, including the constructive critisism. :D


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock look into what the booklet actually says and deal with the information as well as...other things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Return of the Eye-infection! Seriously, though, I do apologize for the wait-time on this. Again, writing like that ain't easy. Have a long, probably winded chapter to make up for it.
> 
> That said, the amount of response to the last chapter totally blew me away. Honestly, guys, you are amazing and sweet and I love and treasure all the feedback, especially that amount of wonderful comments.

After enjoying the warmth of Sherlock’s body for as long as he felt he could do without it being awkward, John stepped back. “I honestly didn’t think I’d ever be in a position to think about what a bond bite would _feel_ like,” he commented with a wry smile. “I mean, I’ve seen them often enough, on both Omegas and Alphas, especially when there’s been complications...”

He saw Sherlock frown. “What, you didn’t know? It happens, though they’re usually minor. Like a couple has bitten each other and then they’ve forgotten that they actually need to keep the piece of flesh in their mouths without licking it overmuch – the pros of the lysozyme enzyme versus the cons of bacteria in our mouths – for long enough that the wound has a chance to seal itself. Not to mention all the other bacterias in the air and their...activities. So they get infections as a result. It’s rarely anything terrible, but it can be painful and put a strain on the newly bonded couple, especially if they’re young or haven’t known each other long before bonding.”

The other man continued to frown at him and the doctor had to sigh again. “You’re thinking of a way you can sneak into work with me to observe what kinds of bite they have and the differences between bites and types of infection aren’t you?” He got no response. “Suppose I should be grateful some things never change. If I bring back some hospital records, would you leave it off? Wait, what am I saying? I’ll probably be kicked out on my arse the moment they figure I’m no longer a Beta, anyway, long before you have a chance to get me fired.”

John started moving down the stairs, aware that Sherlock was only a few steps behind him all the way down.

“If you don’t work at the clinic, then you can come with me on cases.”

Even when he reached the bottom of the stairs and moved into the kitchen towards the kettle in an effort to actually get the damn cup of tea he’d been craving since the library, he still had a consulting detective shadow hovering just behind him. “I do that anyway, Sherlock, and you’re missing the point. We need the money of that work. Now all I’ll be eligible for is bloody pediatric work, if they’ll even let me do that.”

God, the mere thought that all he’d be facing from then on – and that was if he was lucky – would be whiny little kids and overly protective mothers who certainly knew the disease their little miracle offspring was suffering from far better than the qualified doctor because they’d looked it up on the internet...it was not to be thought.

“Aren’t you being somewhat overly dramatic, John? The risk of you being sacked merely because of you being an Omega is–“Sherlock stopped as he watched the smaller man bend over the counter, shoulders shaking. He raised an uncertain hand.  “John, are you–?”

The sounds broke through at last and they were a mix of snorts and the somewhat highly pitched giggles that should be emasculating, but just seemed to fit the doctor somehow.

“I’m sorry, I’m...sorry,” he managed when the laughter had finally died down to the occasional exhausted chuckle. “It’s just... _I’m_ being overly dramatic? Talk about pot and kettle. It’s practically your shtick.”

“I fail to see the humour in that.”

“I suppose so, but after...the day I’ve had...that’s just...” and he dissolved into giggles again. “I’m sorry. It’s not funny. It’s not. God, I should definitely be reacting differently, it’s just...” He tried suppressing another giggle threatening to escape.

“Since when has either of us done anything according to what is expected?” the baritone voice rumbled, still close, and John was pleased to hear there was a chuckle lurking in the depths of it.

“True,” he admitted as he twisted his head to look at the other man. “Still doesn’t exempt us from the fact that society does have expectations and that I might as well start looking around for another job.” He managed to let out a noise somewhere between a growl and a sigh. “As if there wasn’t enough to curse and want to kill Moriarty for as it is.”

The doctor made to turn his attention back to the kettle as it boiled, but his chin was grabbed before he had a chance to do and he was fixed with an intense stare, seemingly trying to bore something into him.

“You do realize that when the scent spray can successfully mask your scent, they’d be none the wiser to your change? Until then you need not worry, as you’ve been granted a compassionate leave to look after your sister as she goes through rehab.”

“I haven’t seen Harry in ages,” John managed to shoot back as he shook the hand off his chin, once more taken aback at just how far the Holmes brothers could and would go to get their own way. “I don’t have a clue where she is or what she’s knocking back and I certainly don’t think anyone would believe we’re close enough that she’d allowed me to be there for such a time, if it’d even be believable she’d go. So how the hell did Mycroft swing that one to – wait, I’m asking a stupid question again, aren’t I?”

He merely got a smirk in response.

John cleared his throat. “Right. Good. It’s good to see that some things never change, at least,” he said at last. He turned his attention back to filling two mugs with water and teabags, then picked up his own mug when he was done. “I suppose I should thank Mycroft for giving me one less worry.” He spotted a problem as he turned. “Would you please let me out, Sherlock? I know you’re itching to read that thing Moriarty left me, which is fine, as you’re probably going to get more out of it than me. I, on the other hand, really could do with an evening just watching whatever’s on the telly.”

Sherlock frowned, but didn’t move. “You don’t want to read it after all? It’s your body that’s been messed with, as you pointed out earlier.” _And it’s been written by Moriarty, so whatever’s in there is going to be significant in more ways than one_ went unsaid, but was heard nevertheless.

“I do want to read it, very much. But after all of...this, I’m tired and I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t want to read it right now enough that I want to tempt the sulk you’re going to throw if you don’t get to it soon. I also trust you to tell me if there’s anything in there that’s urgent.” He turned his head down and his voice went quiet and fragile. “I just need some semblance of what passes for normality here, Sherlock. _Please._ ”

The Alpha blinked, but remained quiet as he stepped aside to let his friend go into the living room, plopping down into his own chair. There he wriggled a bit in an effort to get comfortable without disturbing the liquid in the cup overly much before reaching for the remote, which had become wedged between the cushions of the chair.

John watched Sherlock sweep from the kitchen and into the living room, swooping down on the little booklet that had been abandoned earlier and then flopping down onto the sofa. All of it was done with the usual grace that was both bloody frustrating and charming to the doctor.

A sense of peace and quiet descended upon the cluttered mess that was 221b Baker Street and for a while John was able to enjoy the utter, but very much enjoyable rubbish that was the typical night time television. Having Sherlock grumble and shout at the ludicrousness of it all would have been a nice added bonus, but he was perfectly content to shut out the real world for the moment and just focus on the images on the screen.

 When there was an unexpected noise coming from the area where the sofa was located some time later, the former Beta realized he’d been in the process of nodding off as his head snapped up and he scanned his surroundings, trying to assess the danger.

What his eyes found was not what he’d been expecting at all, though if he thought about it, he couldn’t have said what he had actually had expected. Only that it most certainly hadn’t been Sherlock sitting ramrod straight on the sofa where he’d obviously been sprawling while reading. John sussed out that the noise that had startled him into waking was a noise of surprise; a strangled sound somewhere between a gasp, a growl and a moan.

He did know better than to just ask the man what had prompted such an unrestrained reaction out of him, though. That would result in nothing but a resolution on the younger man’s part to be mysterious. Sometimes John really did wish his friend and soon-to-be mate would just go on the stage and get the need for theatrics at all times a little out of his system.

Sherlock turned his head and fixed John with a deducing stare. After a moment he spoke. “When is your heat coming?” The tone was neutral, but seemingly carefully so. There was a definite air of unease about him that the older man suspected he would have been alone in picking up on.

“I don’t know. That’s kind of the point, Sherlock,” the doctor sighed. “I wasn’t born an Omega, so I haven’t got any clue as to which of the signals my body is now sending that is supposed to clue me in that I’m about to go into Heat. As a doctor I know what the physical symptoms are, yes, but that and what it actually _feels_ like are two very different things indeed. I don’t even know if being a...a created Omega means there are differences in the symptoms or the signals or even the heat itself.”

He paused, realizing he’d started voicing his thoughts out loud without meaning to. Clearing his throat, he attempted to turn his attention back on the crappy telly. “Why do you ask?” he asked quietly after a moment, aiming for the same neutral tone his friend had tried to employ.

John did not expect there to come an answer, so when he was given one, he was surprised.

It did not come in a verbal form, though. Instead the former Beta managed not only not to flinch, but to actually catch the booklet as it was flung at him. He flipped it open on the page that had been marked, searching for what had the detective Alpha riled up.

After scanning the marked page as well as the page before and after several times, though, he was no closer to discovering what exactly had set the other off. All he could see was a list of enzymes and hormones, some diagrams and some chemical reaction chains, none of which indicated in any way something that he thought he should be worried because of.

“Right,” he said at last. “So, for those of us who didn’t major in chemistry and isn’t a genius, could you possibly explain why these things are important in relation to a Heat?” He paused as something occurred to him. “Great, this is just...great. Moriarty has the nerve to mess around with _my_ body in a way that’s both irrevocable and highly damaging and then he bloody well goes and ‘explains’ it in a way that only _you_ can understand. Suppose it’s just as well I passed it to you without trying to read it first.” He ran a hand over his face and then closed his eyes with a defeated groan, too damn exhausted to even get properly angry. “God, I’m tired of being a pawn in the damn game you two keep playing.”

When he opened his eyes as something seemed to block the light that was mostly coming from the screen, he was face to face once more with his flatmate, somewhat closer than was really comfortable. The scent pouring from Sherlock and over John was not helping matters, either.

“You were never meant to be, John,” he was told in quiet and strangely earnest voice, pale eyes boring into his. “And there is no Game anymore.” A touch of vehemence crept into the voice at that.

With every exhale breathed across his face John had to suppress a shiver. He closed his eyes; this really wasn’t the moment to dwell on how good the other man smelled or how easy it would be to just close the last few inches between their lips. “I don’t think Moriarty quite agrees,” he managed to get out.

“Oh, no. This is a different game altogether and one that I _will_ win, I assure you of that.” Sherlock straightened up at that, though he didn’t move away from the other. “In the meantime, you are not to go out without me being there.”

The note of finality in the baritone was somewhat grating, but again John was far too tired to get properly annoyed, even though he knew he ought to be. “We’ve been through that once before, are you really going to oscillate on that as well?” His eyes narrowed and he glared up at the other. “Wait, what exactly does it say? Why is it significant? Sherlock, please?” He hated the slight unsteadiness lurking in his voice and how he couldn’t manage to suppress it. He would not be brought down by all of this. He would not.

Sherlock refused to look him in the eye, even being as close as he was, choosing instead to fix his gaze on something outside the window. “Because...because once you go into Heat, it’s...” It was little comfort to hear that it wasn’t only John’s voice that wasn’t entirely steady or under the owner’s control.

“It’s what?”

“It’s not going to stop.” Finally the Alpha turned his head to look down at his flatmate, scaring him slightly with his not quite identifiable, but very unsettling expression. “Or at least, it won’t until you are...claimed. Your body will be forced to stay in Heat until you are either claimed and bonded or you...” He trailed off.

“No. No. I am not...are you seriously telling me this is...what, like a bleeding ferret?” the former Beta spluttered, eyes going wide in utter disbelief. “You’re not serious. No. That is...that’s bloody well impossible!”

“As was, seemingly, the idea of changing the secondary gender of someone,” the detective countered. “Yet he’s clearly managed it. It’s all in there.” He gestured towards the booklet and by association the doctor himself. “All of the reaction chains, both of the chemicals necessary for the change, for the change of blood and for the hormones released, including as you will enter Heat. With the injection pumped into your system he’s added an enzyme that releases along with the hormones triggering the Heat; an enzyme that will trigger the release of more Heat-inducing hormones, for each a higher dose as more enzymes are released as well, and one that is only overruled and eventually eliminated by the enzymes in the Alpha’s saliva.”

“That is still...highly improbable.” _To say the least_ , John added in the privacy of his mind.

“When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth, John,” Sherlock answered and it almost seemed like he was quoting or at least reciting something he’d said before. “I admit the truth this time is _highly_ improbable, as you said, but there is evidence to support it. _Plenty_ of evidence.” The slightly frightening expression faded to one that was still unidentifiable, but had a sadder, more desperate edge to it.

Silence ruled the flat for a time afterwards, but the peaceful atmosphere from earlier had dissipated completely, replaced by a very uncomfortable one.

After a while John spoke, his voice small and his eyes trained on his hands. “So what you’re saying is that if I start going into Heat somewhere that is not here, not only will it attract every Alpha around me, but it will continue until I either break under the pressure of the hormonal hell that is going to consume me and allow whatever Alpha gets their hand on me to claim and mark me or I...I die from...what, exactly? Inflammation?”

“Don’t be stu – no. Not inflammation, but exhaustion and dehydration. During a Heat it’s normal to experience dehydration due to heavy...activities. But as that only lasts for a maximum of three to four days even without an Alpha it will never get as bad; especially since there normally won’t be the _amount_ of hormones being pumped through the body.”

“It’s a spiral that’s feeding itself until it eventually implodes.”

“To put it in layman’s terms, yes.”

The former Beta still didn’t look up from his hands, but his shoulders set in a way that indicated he was trying to pull himself together. “Then what the hell do we do? Staying here indefinitely until I go into Heat – which we have no clue of knowing when is going to happen – is not an option, as I’d go completely round the bend and there’d be no way of knowing someone else won’t come here before you get home.”

John took a breath, looking up at his friend still standing close and forestalling a comment with a look. “And please don’t say you’re staying at home, too. That’s very sweet and all, but that isn’t going to happen. You’d be bored within a few hours, if we’re lucky, and either storm out for a case or drive me nuts even sooner than I otherwise would have been. So what do we do?”

“Simple. You don’t leave my side.” The answer came out flat and with an air of finality.

John stared, eyes wide in belief. “What, just like that? You go from not caring one way or the other over oscillating behaviour to full protective, possessive Alpha mode in the span of a few days?” He crossed his arms over his chest as he spotted a problem. “And what, exactly, happens when you suddenly run off when my back’s turned because you found something interesting and forgot me and I have to either try and find you or get back here on my own? What then? Do I just hope I get to one or the other without any sort of trouble happening? Without bumping into anyone...unsavoury?”

“That is not going to happen.” Again the finality was in that baritone voice.

“You do it all the time!” God, he really didn’t have the energy to spare to be angry and yet Sherlock was managing to get him going, even when he didn’t mean to. Probably didn’t mean to, at least. “You almost make a _point_ of it.”

“This is...different.”

“How? Because I’m now something I wasn’t before? Because my body can no longer be trusted to remain under my control? Because I’m _weak_?” John’s voice rose with each sentence and in an effort to calm down he took a deep breath. Then he took another and yet another.

“Sorry. That was uncalled for. You’re as little to blame as I am and struggle just as much.” _If not more because you’re so utterly out of your depth when it comes to something that isn’t purely cerebral_ , he added silently. “I know that. It’s just...I hate feeling so utterly not in control – so bloody _helpless_. None of all of this is in my hands to control and I hate that.”

He looked up to see an even odder expression than before mar those fine features, one that made his stomach both flutter pleasantly and clench uncomfortable at the same time.

“I...would reverse all of this if it was within my power, John,” Sherlock admitted so quietly that the doctor wasn’t entirely sure he’d heard it at first. When he confirmed that he had, he found himself blinking, both at the words and the atmosphere that was somehow even tenser than a few minutes previous.

“Careful, that sounds awfully close to sentiment,” John said with a small smile, trying to lighten things a little, though the weight of the earlier revelation about his upcoming Heat hadn’t left him.

“And if it was?”

That left the new Omega speechless for a moment; his stomach churning even more as possibilities of intentions behind that question was going through his mind.

“Ah. Yes. Friends,” he said finally, mentally backing off of the other possibilities as merely wishful thinking. “Of course. Thank you. I suppose there should have been a clue in the fact that you are willing to bond with me in order to protect me, shouldn’t there? That’s...” he swallowed as the thought sank in,” that’s actually a pretty huge thing. Far past...” _far past what a normal friend would do, no matter how close_ ; he couldn’t quite say it, “Well...thank you. It’s...I’m very grateful.”

There was no chance Sherlock hadn’t caught on to what he wasn’t saying as well as the small signals his body was most likely sending out despite his best efforts and so he prepared himself for a barrage of deduction. The Alpha’s face twisted in a complicated expression that John didn’t have a chance to decipher before the taller man spun around, swooping down on his phone lying forgotten on the table that the doctor only then registered was buzzing.

“Piss _off_ , Mycroft!” Sherlock snarled into the phone. He did not, however, end the conversation as the voice answering on the other end seemed to freeze him to the spot. The already pale skin drained of colour until he was practically white. Then his face twisted into an expression of utter rage; he roared something the doctor didn’t catch in the sheer, overpowering volume of it and threw the phone with an amount of force that meant when it hit the wall it didn’t shatter, but broke cleanly in two.

“That...was not your phone,” John said after a moment of silence and frowned as the realization hit. “That was my phone. Why was Mycroft phoning me...but he wasn’t, was he? That... that was Moriarty.” He felt a cold shiver run down his spine and had to fight the urge coursing through his body to curl up in his chair and hide away.

The Alpha spun back around in a way that managed to look dramatic even without the signature coat, fixed his flatmate with a glare and then descended on him, lips crashing into each other.

Again it was a brief occasion and one that left the former Beta more than a little confused and ever so slightly aroused as well.

“Is this going to be a thing now?” he asked when they’d parted, voice annoyingly unsteady. “Every time your emotions get the better of you, you assault my lips to calm down?” _Not that I’d necessarily mind, but it is definitely adding to the conflicting signals_.

“It is _not_ in order to calm down.”

“Then what _is it_?”

“He said,” Sherlock growled, ignoring the question, “he said ‘Oh, Sherlock, you really should _know_ better than to let such a little treat out of your sight. He might not want to come back to you. Or _I_ might not want to give him back’.”

Before John had a chance to respond to that, though he had no clear idea of what he would respond, Sherlock’s lips descended upon him once more. Though as forceful as the previous times it had happened, this time it was a lot more aggressive and the Alpha almost bullied his way into his friend’s mouth, tongue scouring every part of the other’s mouth it could reach as thoroughly as possible. Long-fingered hands grabbed hold of broad shoulders as the detective bent down to get

The former Beta knew he should push away; he should put a stop to what was Sherlock’s probably mostly biological response to too much Omega scent for too prolonged a time coupled with a situation he had no idea how to handle and so was responding to instinct.

He knew very well that it still was a bad idea to go along with it all, as it still didn’t seem to be of Sherlock’s own, conscious volition to do so. The trouble was, though, that it felt damn good; so good he wondered whether he really was close to his first proper Heat after all. He found himself giving as good as he got, twirling his tongue with Sherlock over and over as he, much to his embarrassment, moaned and felt his pants begin to get wet, both front and rear.

As soon as his mouth was released and the Alpha moved his head down to nose about, scent and lick his neck in a hauntingly familiar way, however, the doctor was able to gather at least some wits again. He still wasn’t quite capable of speech yet, ragged breath coming out in short pants notwithstanding, though. He therefore settled for grabbing hold of a handful of dark brown curls and, fighting the impulse to push Sherlock closer, he yanked hard enough to pull the other man’s face away from his neck.

If they were going to do anything of what he hoped for, the new Omega wanted at least the confirmation that it was the consulting detective genius idiot himself that wanted it to happen and not the Alpha part of his brain doing the thinking. Omega or not, he deserved that much.

They made eye contact and John was rather taken aback by the myriad of emotions starkly visibly in Sherlock’s eyes. Hurt, anger, frustration, lust, sadness and bewilderment were in there along with a set of more unclear emotions.

Unconsciously, the doctor’s hand went out to gently cup the other’s cheek, thumb starting to stroke gently across one high cheekbone. He didn’t stop when he did notice what he was doing, however, but though it felt good in a way he now registered as Omega-related, he also knew it would have felt good regardless.

“John...” Sherlock whispered ever so quietly, looking utterly lost and bewildered. He leaned into the touch, inhaling the doctor’s scent off his wrist deeply. Then something seemed to snap inside that brain; his face hardened and he pulled away, standing up and spinning around in a movement that should have been clumsy, but was more than a little graceful, even as rushed as it was.

“Sherlock. Sherlock, what the hell is going on?” John called out just as the front door banged shut after the detective, leaving the doctor confused and more than a little aroused.  

“Fucking bastard...mixed signals doesn’t even _begin_ to cover it,” he sighed. What was the worst part was that he couldn’t even find it in himself to be angry. Sherlock didn’t know how to handle biological responses or actual emotions; he never had and there was no reason to believe that just because his best friend had had his secondary gender changed by his mental equal that was going to change. The evidence to support it having changed just wasn’t there.

There was no point in charging after the man, either, as the doctor had waited too long sitting in the chair and wouldn’t reach outside in time to see where he’d buggered off to in his mad dash to obviously be away from something that confused him that much.

“So much for not taking off and leaving me alone,” John muttered under his breath as he got up from the chair. He looked at the place where his phone had hit the wall, but as it lay on the floor, clearly broken in half, there really was little point in going over to pick it up just yet.

Luckily he managed to dig out Sherlock’s phone from under a pile of papers and books on the table after searching for a while. He managed to unlock it and then stopped, fingers poised over the screen.

Who was he going to call? Why was he attempting to call anyone in the first place?

The answer to the last question, he realized, was for his own safety. Without Sherlock there for what seemed to be for at least the foreseeable future and there being a very great risk that his Heat _could_ hit before the genius idiot would decide to come back, he needed to be somewhere that he would be as safe as he could be given the circumstances. He would very much have preferred to just stay at 221b, but the concern of others barging in while he was in the throes of Heat was still very real.

It could of course take days or even weeks before his body had ‘grown into’ the Omega state; John was well aware of that fact, but the way his life had been going lately, it would just figure that it’d happen when it was least convenient. In any case, setting up a safe option for when the Alpha ended up pulling the same stunt again seemed like a rather good idea.

For him to get somewhere that would be safe enough, there really was only one man he could call, loathe as he was to do so.

He forewent going through the list of contacts as he knew the number wasn’t to be found there. Eventually he located it in the list of incoming calls. With a strange sense of dread, he pressed the number.

“Hello, John, how unexpected,” came the dry, level voice as the call was picked up almost immediately.

“I still don’t know how either of you does that,” John answered, unable to help himself. “It’s not even my phone.”

“Come now, it’s not exactly hard to figure out. But I am intrigued as to what has prompted this. You made it very clear I wasn’t to get involved in your...condition.”

John’s jaw clenched, but he managed to keep his voice calm. “Well, yes, about that. It seems I might need somewhere safer than this flat to stay if...” He swallowed.

“If Sherlock isn’t there when you go into Heat.”

Bloody, blasted Holmes brothers – how the hell did they know? “Well, yes.”

“But of course, John, I’d be only happy to help. I shall send Anthea over to pick you up and then we can talk about what to do.”

“Right. Thank you.” With that, John hung up. He heaved a sigh and closed his eyes. It wasn’t that he wanted to do any of this, but it seemed like he had little choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again with the angst and an apparent step backwards, but there is a point to it, don't worry. Sorry if it seems slightly winded, though.  
> Oh, and to spare you commenting - no, there won't be any dubcon between John and Sherlock, despite what the revelations might suggest, and yes, the female ferret (the jill) can die from not being mated. Look it up ;)  
> As always, feedback is dearly loved and appreciated, if you keep the criticism constructive.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John goes to Mycroft for help and gets it. Sherlock...reacts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not so long waiting time, wohoo. I was going to post this tomorrow, but then I remembered that some of you guys are going to be busy with Halloween tomorrow (not me - not a tradition here) and I had a writing power-surge, so here you go.
> 
> Thank you once more to all the people who's left me feedback in one form or another, especially the comments. They make me very happy

It was scary to see how quickly a black car pulled up to the kerb and John found himself, rather illogically, wondering whether there was a man employed solely to sit and wait in the car until it was needed. Perhaps there were several men employed for only that job. It would certainly not surprise him if that was the case.

Pulling on his bomber jacket and stuffing Sherlock’s phone into his trouser pocket, he hurried down the stairs. Then he ran back up, locked the door and ran back down. If he knew one thing, it was that having that car sitting on the kerb for longer than absolutely necessary was a bad decision. It attracted way too much attention.

As he opened the car door and ducked inside, the words of greeting he’d been about to say died in his throat when he saw just who was sitting next to him.

It wasn’t Anthea as he’d been expecting. Instead the impeccably dressed, thin and very sharp figure of Mycroft Holmes greeted him as he slid unto the ridiculously soft leather seat.

“Ah, yes. Surprised, I see,” Mycroft said by way of greeting, flashing a lightning smile that didn’t manage to reach his eyes. “Dear Anthea had her hands full arranging your secure accommodations as well as heading off a political dispute, so I decided to come pick you up myself. I do hope you don’t mind.”

“No...No, not at all,” the doctor managed, voice somehow capable of staying calm. To be honest, though, he could very much have done without the Alpha scent floating thickly in the car; a scent that was just close enough to Sherlock’s to be familiar and comforting and yet far enough removed for it to be jarring. It left John feeling even more on edge than he was already and with the day he’d had so far, he’d been quite near the precipice as it was.

“Ehm...well, thank you. For this, I mean.” _Let’s just skip over the part where I was being incredibly vague in what I needed and yet you seem to know pretty damn well what I actually_ meant, _you bastard_ , he added to himself.

“Not a problem. What’s a serious rescheduling that could result in the breakdown of negotiations in a serious political crisis between family members?” He flashed another smile that, though more genuine than the previous, also managed to be more than a little disconcerting.

John found himself calming physically even as his heart was beating fast and rather irregularly in his chest and his mind was in utter turmoil, not helped in the least by a scent so similar-yet-not to the one he _wanted_ to smell. “So...you know?” he asked, wanting confirmation.

Mycroft obliged him by not asking what he was referring to, confining himself to merely raising an eyebrow. “I do hate to state the obvious,” he began in a matter of fact voice, “but if the way you’ve both been stealing longing glances at each other and the protective streak that Sherlock hasn’t displayed since he was a small child weren’t clue enough, the amount of his scent on your person reaching an even higher level than normal is plenty of evidence.” He gave a brief, knowing smile. “As for the certainty of your upcoming...circumstances...well...”

“Glad to see we’re both so bleeding _obvious_ ,” the doctor snapped, getting annoyed with the clear patronizing dismissal of what was and had been an increasingly turbulent and emotional few months, longer-lasting feelings for the mad consulting detective notwithstanding.

He took a breath. “I’m sure you’re aware what hormones can do to a body, though, so I don’t feel any need to explain myself. As for my...circumstances,” he mimicked the elder Holmes’ tone and word choice deliberately, looking straight ahead of him, “Sherlock has offered to bond with me purely in order to protect me. As a friend, nothing more, nothing less.” He tried to swallow the bitter taste that lingered in his mouth at the thought as he knew how ridiculous the feeling was. He was already getting more than he’d ever been expecting out of this and he shouldn’t feel cheated or bitter about the reason behind it.

“You do not offer your friend, even if it’s your best friend – your _only_ friend – to bond with him, or her, as the case may be, purely for platonic reasons. Not even to protect them from someone as mad as Moriarty.”

“Sherlock is not known for behaving like the world expects people to,” John pointed out, still choosing to look straight ahead. His hands had come to rest on his knees in a movement to keep the calm he’d acquired and he was breathing through his mouth in order not to inhale too much scent.

“Quite. Or indeed just how _Alphas_ are supposed to behave. But then he has given into more of his...instincts lately, hasn’t he?”

Suddenly the doctor was beyond tired. Tired of the whole situation; his body, his mind, the mind games Moriarty pulled, the confusion, the back and forth and most of all the bloody way the Holmes brothers worked and behaved.

“Mycroft, I am not in the mood for any more Holmes shenanigans, so just...just shut up, okay?  Judge me all you want, as I can’t really stop you doing that and I probably deserve it in some strange way, too, but please keep your observations to yourself. It’s tiring and I’m frankly exhausted as it is.”

A strange expression, not dissimilar to the one that had adorned the consulting detective’s face earlier that day, passed across the pale, slightly freckled features of the elder Holmes. John managed to catch the expression as he turned his head just before it disappeared behind a carefully neutral facade.

“Of course, John, my apologies,” he said eventually, giving a small nod as if in acknowledgement. “It was inconsiderate of me not to take that into account. Apropos of that,” he dug into one suit pocket, “it would be advisable for you to wear this.”

The former Beta cautiously took the small piece of white cloth from Mycroft’s outstretched hand. As he held it up, he could see it was a mask like medical staff were required to wear at times or like the ones Asians used when they had diseases.

“It should dull your ability to sense smells and pheromones, at least the normal amount put out by people in everyday interactions,” the ginger fox explained, placing an identical mask over his own face, taking care to fit it properly so it covered both mouth and nose completely. “No telling how effectively it’ll be once your Heat starts, of course.”

John stared for a bit, but eventually complied, putting on the mask himself and was rather surprised to learn that it really did seem to dull the scents permeating the rather small room, which in turn enabled him to breathe through his nose again.

“That’s...better, yeah,” he admitted as he relaxed, the scents knocking about no longer making him uneasy. “I have to say I didn’t know the pharmaceutical companies were so advanced in their products.”

“They’re not.”

“Ah.” There really wasn’t much else he could think to say. Not that he had much room to spare for idle small talk, if any words exchanged with the elder Holmes could ever be called that. There were too many things vying for him in his head to contemplate, not to mention fret and panic over as it was and he really had little headroom to spare for pleasantries at that moment.

The remainder of the ride was spent in silence, a silence that wasn’t exactly tense, but certainly couldn’t be called comfortable either. John had the feeling Mycroft was doing much more than just observing him or even deducing him as Sherlock would and it was slightly disconcerting to feel like he was being judged for something that he hadn’t wanted or even had any control over.

When eventually the car stopped, the elder Holmes pulled off his mask and climbed out without a word, using the ever-present umbrella as support. The building they’d parked in front of managed to seem both elegant and grand and yet nondescript all at once. In other words, it reeked of government.

The doctor pulled off his own mask and went for the door handle, but before he reached it, the door was pulled open and he was grabbed by the arm by a familiar figure.

“Greg,” John said in surprise as he was hauled out of the car. “Where the hell did you come from? How did you get here?” _Not to mention,_ why _are you here? Why are you here when I asked the Alpha brother of my Alpha flatmate and friend for a safe place to stay during my very first_ Heat _?_

Lestrade had the decency to at least actually look somewhat embarrassed and apologetic, quite apart from beyond tired, as he smiled sheepishly. “I know, not what you’d expect, especially at this time of night. But when your orders from up high say you’ve got to be at this address right this minute, that’s pretty much it, innit? Not like I haven’t had to report in at this hour before.”

The former Beta felt immensely grateful that if it had been an order, it hadn’t warranted any other of the Yarders to come with the inspector. That would have been beyond uncomfortable and embarrassing, quite apart from the whole business of being outed at a very inconvenient time.

 Then his eyes narrowed as something clicked. “I think I can guess who originally issued that...request. But...shit, that means you know.” He honestly hadn’t wanted anyone he knew to know about it and would have liked to have put it off for as long as it was possible to. At least until his Heat had passed and he was safer.

The inspector grimaced slightly as he led the smaller man up the stairs and into the building. “Well, to be fair, all I knew before you got here was that something had happened to your body and you needed protection. The scent coming off you is a dead give-away, though, I have to say.”

Lestrade saw the new Omega frown. “John, I might be unable to smell normal Alpha and Omega scents as a Beta, which you know, but the sheer _amount_ of scent you’re pouring out is telltale even to my dulled senses.” He clapped a hand onto the stockier man’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, mate. I’m here to help you, not to judge you – or jump your bones, for that matter. Yuck.” He winked. “Come on, we’re losing track of our illustrious host.”

As he followed the silver fox further into the building, also vaguely using the lingering scent of Alpha Holmes as a guide, John realized that he was all in all really grateful that Mycroft had called Lestrade. He trusted the man; he was reliable, down to earth and calm outside the times Sherlock riled him up just for the heck of it. Besides that, a neutral Beta was soothing after the sea of Alphas that had seemed to surround him.

They eventually stopped in front of a nondescript door of dark wood located three corridors down from the main entrance way. There was no name on the door and John got the feeling that this was nothing more than a temporary office the elder Holmes had commandeered for the occasion.

“So...if you don’t mind me asking, how the hell did you go from being a Beta to being a bleeding Omega? I mean, that’s downright impossible.”

Despite himself, the doctor couldn’t help cocking a wry smile. It really was tremendously absurd when you came to think about it. “No shit. Try telling that to Moriarty, though. Turns out he did more than just coat me in what turned out not to be Semtex after all.” He left out the actual details of what had transpired; there really was no need to spill the beans on that and he could do without having to dwell on it.

“Yeah. God, that really has to suck. All those hormones and the bodily changes,” there was no hiding the glance he shot the shorter man’s body, “not to mention the different behaviour people will have towards you. And now you can actually smell the scent marks Sherlock’s always leaving on you, too,” he added after a pause.

John, who had been about to turn the door knob and go inside the room, snapped his head around to stare at the other man, eyes big and mouth slightly agape. “You _what_?”

Before the more than uncomfortable inspector could give an answer or wriggle out of doing it, the door opened inwards to reveal the tall, somewhat intimidating figure of Mycroft Holmes. “If the two of you are quite done, perhaps we can get to the heart of the matter?” He stood aside to allow them inside and closed the door behind them. “Not to be crass, but there is every indication that your Heat will hit within the next 48 hours, though most likely within the next 24 hours, and I’d like you to be safely away before that happens.”

“How the hell can you tell that so bleeding accurately?” John could feel himself getting riled up and for what felt like the umpteenth time he cursed the hormones and how it was becoming increasingly difficult to get a handle on them and the subsequent emotions.

The ginger-haired man merely raised an eyebrow, infuriating the doctor even further. “I _am_ an Alpha, John. If a functioning Alpha can’t tell when an Omega is close to Heat, there is a serious defect in their ability to sense. You positively _reek_ and it’s distracting. Even the detective inspector isn’t entirely immune.”

Lestrade cleared his throat, not meeting the doctor’s eyes. “Ehm...yeah, sorry, mate. Not exactly something I’m in control of, but I promise I won’t jump you.”

John closed his eyes, mindful not to take a breath and allow more scents to assault him. “Well, great. That’s just...great. So what, I metaphorically have a sign saying ‘breed me’ on me? Wait, of course I do, I’m an Omega now. Essentially a fuck toy and a possession.” He sank into the nearest chair, looking absolutely wrecked and so very vulnerable.

“I can’t even tell what’s worse now, knowing I’ll be going into Heat at all or that the demands of my body are starting to affect my mind as well.” He ran a hand over his face, pressing his thumb and forefinger into the corner of an eye each to stop the sting of tears he could dimly feel. “I guess I was more right about changing into something that’s not even me than I thought.”

The other two men in the room stood stock still as they looked at the smaller man, clearly not certain what to do. Mycroft had a look very uncommon of a Holmes; a look of sad resignation, whereas Greg bore a horrified and sympathetic look. The doctor saw both expressions as he lowered his hand and he couldn’t tell which was most disheartening.

“Just...just tell me where to go and what I’m supposed to do, Mycroft,” he said eventually. “I know you’ve got it all planned out already and I’m sure you’d rather be somewhere else. “ _Just like your brother_ , came the unbidden and somewhat bitter afterthought.

Mycroft didn’t move, however. “You seem to be labouring under the misapprehension that I do not like you or your association with Sherlock. Quite the contrary I assure you. You have been more than a match for my brother in all the time he has known you. One might go as far as saying you’ve made him a better man. That you’re now going to become something more than what you have been is only an improvement, your new secondary gender notwithstanding.”

The elder Holmes moved closer, close enough to lean over the doctor in the chair and say ever so quietly, possibly so that only John could hear, “In all honesty, that the two of you are going to be bonded, regardless of the reason behind it, is both a relief and a comfort. I could not think of a person better suited for my brother than you.” His voice lowered even further."So don’t allow this to overcome you, doctor – and if you tell him any of that, you will be relocated somewhere very...unpleasant.”

After that, the ginger fox straightened up and walked back to the desk he’d spread several sheets of paper out on earlier. He picked up a couple of them without looking and held them out in a manner so similar to Sherlock’s imperious movements that it startled a snort out of both of the other two men.

“This should cover things in more detail, but to outline the basics, Lestrade will drive you to a discreet location somewhere safe and out of the way where there’s been a room prepared for you. It has been safe-proofed to the best of my people’s abilities and when Sherlock deems it appropriate to turn up, which shouldn’t be too long, he’ll be guided to where you’re staying so the two of you can...bond.”

As John stood up and grabbed hold of the documents, he took the hand that was held towards him with his free hand, grabbing it firmly. Nothing was said and there was nothing to trace in Mycroft’s expression, as was the norm, but there was plenty to see in the depths of those calculating eyes. It made him feel a little bit better about it all, even though he still felt lost and hurt and he knew perfectly well what hell he was going to face. It meant that he would be protected while he was in Heat and afterwards as well, not by one, but both of the Holmes Alphas.

“Thank you, Mycroft,” he said at last as he let go of the hand, meaning it.

The taller man merely gave a nod and turned his attention back to the papers on the desk. The moment of showing care was obviously over.

“Right, then,” Greg called out, fighting to put an easy smile on his face. He held out his arm towards the door in a gentlemanly gesture. “Shall we, John?”

 

* * *

 

“So...scent marks. Are you going to tell me how long Sherlock has been leaving them on me, how on earth _you_ could tell when I couldn’t and why the bleeding hell you haven’t informed me of it?”

They were travelling down a, for London, almost deserted road at a speed slightly above what would be considered smart or even safe. John had considered asking what the rush was, but as Mycroft had called the inspector back into the room on his own just as they were leaving, the reason for it was probably not something he would like to hear. Hence the question that had been at the back of his mind since Greg had let it slip before they’d been interrupted by Mycroft.

Lestrade looked uncomfortable, suitably so in the doctor’s opinion, but he did eventually answer, keeping his gaze clearly focused on the road in front of him. “Well...to be fair I couldn’t tell. I only discovered it because Anderson made a...rather uncomplimentary remark one day some months ago where you’d left the crime scene after Sherlock had done his thing and given Anderson a...few choice comments along the way . What Anderson said was something along the lines of how incompetent as an Alpha you could be to leave your scent marks all over a mere _Beta_. He got into trouble with Donovan over that, though – if there ever were two people who should by right be the other’s secondary gender, it’s those two.”

There was a silence after that. “So...that’s one question. Care to answer the other ones?” It really was frustrating to have all those emotions taking control more and more, but John couldn’t help somewhat agreeing with the cold annoyance he felt.

“I don’t know how long Sherlock’s been leaving them on you, John, honest,” the taller man protested. “As I said, I only found out because Anderson was being a dick – well, more than usual. I didn’t tell you because you’re pretty adamant about not being gay and I figured that Sherlock was just...being Sherlock, basically. You know, the Alpha side coming out in a way that’s a little...off, compared to most people. And you’ve got to admit, you haven’t exactly had the most normal of Alpha and Beta relationships. It wasn’t difficult to chalk up to just something else the two of you differed in compared to the rest of the world. So I didn’t say anything – there didn’t seem to be any point.”

The inspector glanced over at the smaller man as they slowed for a red light. Then, when they were driving again, he went on, actually looking somewhat thoughtful. “Now, though...”

John merely nodded, even though the other man wouldn’t be able to see it. Now, with the scent of Sherlock recent and plastered all over him to consider as well as the fact that the scent marks weren’t an addition after he’d...changed, a tiny hope sparked that the intention of them might have been for the same reason all the time. That, more than anything so far, helped calm the new Omega down.

“Gods, I wish...I wish I at least had some choice in all of this. I can’t even choose not to bond, not to force Sherlock to do this.”

“You don’t force Sherlock Holmes to do anything he doesn’t already want to,” Lestrade pointed out, foregoing to comment on the lack of ability to choose as he made another turn. They were going down rather small side streets now, quiet and dark and made even darker by the buildings looming over them.

“Yeah, well, biology and instinct can overrule a mind, even one as great as Sherlock’s.” The doctor thought of that... _creature_ that had been the consulting detective under the influence of Heat hormones and sighed deeply, sadly. It really wasn’t of the Alpha’s own volition. “I’ve seen it happen.”

The car had stopped at that point, in front of what looked like a normal three-story, semi-detached house, complete with front garden and a white front door.

Greg turned in his seat at that point, fixing the shorter man with a look that was both very intense and very earnest. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, John, and honestly, I don’t particularly want to, either. From the little I’ve heard I do know it’s been horrible and I can understand why you’re so physically and emotionally wrecked, by now very telltale upcoming Heat notwithstanding. In fact, I think it’s pretty astonishing you’re still holding together at all, but then again, you always do.”

He paused for a moment before continuing. “I’ve known Sherlock for a long time, you know. Knew him back when he was pumping God knows what into his system as regularly as he could, too. I watched the process of him getting clean and allowed him back to the crime scenes when he was. In all that time, even with the shitty and crazy things he did while high or going through withdrawal, I knew one thing for certain.” He took a deep breath.”That Sherlock Holmes, whether under the influence or not, never _ever_ does anything he does not want to do. Perhaps it’s not a conscious decision, but it’s a decision nevertheless.”

There was silence after that, a stunned one, and after it had gone on for a few minutes, the inspector clapped a hand on the other’s shoulder. “I won’t say anything sappy or sentimental or crap like that, I’d sooner cut my tongue out, but you know what I mean. Now get in there, they’ll take care of you and I’ll go find that infuriating, brilliant idiot for you.”

As John crawled out of the car and walked up the path to the door, hearing the car drive away back the way it had come, he had to admit that, thanks to Greg and his way of being and his words, while he still didn’t feel confident, at least he felt more like himself; the captain, the doctor, the blogger, the Beta, John H. Watson, who _could_ deal with these things, could be an equal partner of Sherlock Holmes and could handle a possibly dangerous, never-ending Heat.

That was at the very least a start.

 

* * *

 

The bang the door made as it slammed against the wood-panelled wall echoed through the building.

“Where is he, Mycroft? What have you done to him?”

 

* * *

 

The room they’d installed him in was very comfortable if a touch too sterile for his liking. They hadn’t gone as far as to make everything in the room white or something of the like, but there was a very clinical feel about it all, though there was no hospital smell, at least. It made John wonder if there were perhaps some research aspect to it all after all. He certainly wouldn’t put it past Mycroft Holmes to do it, despite the doctor’s adamant insistence on not being a part of any kind of experiment or research.

Nevertheless, as a young Omega man and a rather pretty Beta woman, neither of whom he could decide on whether they were nurses or civil servants, talked to him about what was going to happen, he had to give the ginger Alpha that he had done a thorough job.

It was amusing, though, that they took time to explain what would happen to his body – as a doctor he _did_ know the basics, thank you, although admittedly not from firsthand experience – but when the Beta woman left to get something, the Omega male, who couldn’t be older than his mid-twenties, took a step towards John, who was sitting on the bed.

“Don’t be scared,” he said in what was clearly meant to be a comforting, reassuring voice.

John’s eyebrows rose.” I don’t know what brief you’ve gotten, mate, but I’m a doctor, a former army captain and considerably older than you. I’ll be fine.” He didn’t _feel_ like he would be fine, but there was no need to let the guy know that.

“Yes, I know, but...” the man said, thankfully dropping the patronizing reassurance, “your first Heat...it’s never what people expect it to be, if they expect it to be anything at all. Not just the physical, which is bad enough as you are wrecked by a sea of sensation, both pleasant and not, but the emotional and psychological as well. I...had a friend, a big guy, played all kinds of sports and had a great, booming laugh – a _real_ man, you know. When he presented as an Omega, he was devastated, kept saying he couldn’t be an Omega because he was a _man_. But that was nothing compared to his first Heat. He cried for two days straight after it happened.”

He stopped, fidgeting a little and gave a small smile. “Sorry, I tend to go on. What I’m saying is – it’s overwhelming to actually _experience_ it, apart from the whole emasculating aspect, and when you...well, your situation isn’t going to make it easier. Alice out there knows a lot, as do you, but trust one who’s been there – panicking or rushing is the last thing you want to do, even though your body will tell you something else.”

He walked towards the door, stopping before he exited through it. “That said, you’re looking you’re going to have an Alpha here. That’ll help.” He gave a smile and a wink. “Well, if you need anything in the coming hours before it hits, let me know, yeah?” And with that, he left, leaving the doctor alone in the predominantly white room.

John breathed out, closing his eyes. The day just kept on getting worse, didn’t it? He pulled off his clothes and slipped under the covers. With all the things swirling around in his head he thought there was little chance of him actually sleeping, but with the day he’d had, he could do with some rest.

He was asleep not long after his head had hit the pillow, his last conscious thought being, _Perhaps Sherlock will have shown up by the time I wake_.

 

* * *

 

The elder Holmes looked up from the paperwork he’d been skimming through only when two hands were slammed into the desk in front of him, threatening to tear up the paper beneath as the fingers twitched.

“I do hope you realize how immature you’re being,” he commented calmly, coolly, looking into his brother’s eyes. “He is safe.”

“Safe?” Sherlock growled. “Why have you got anything to do with his safety? He should be at 221b!” _Back home where he belongs_ went unsaid, but was heard nevertheless.

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Oh? So you’re saying he should be at the place where you left him all on his own, knowing full well that his Heat would hit sooner rather than later? Back where every passing Alpha could have come in and taken him? That was _‘safe’_ , was it?” His tone was seemingly calm, but lurking in there was something frosty, harsh and sharp. It was a tone that brooked no argument, no theatrics.

Sherlock opened his mouth to deliver a scathing reply as his eyes narrowed as well, but no sound came out and he shut it again. “I was coming back,” he murmured eventually.

“Yes, but _when_ , Sherlock?” the elder Holmes snapped. “When you _felt_ like it? When you’d grown enough balls to face an Omega that clearly wants you? Lestrade found you on the other side of town, deducing people to shreds.”

The older man stood up and leaned closer to his brother. “I am sorely tempted not to let you anywhere near him,” he said and his voice was pure ice. “You have clearly shown you are not capable of taking care of him.”

“John is-“

“Not capable of taking care of himself in the state he’s about to enter, especially if he hadn’t called and Moriarty had found him.”

“He called you?”

“Don’t attempt stupidity, brother, it doesn’t suit you and neither does this behaviour. You are many things, but capable of abandoning one you’ve protected since the beginning of your...acquaintance is not one of them.  So tell me why.”

The silence bloomed out between them, uncomfortable as they glared at each other.

Eventually Sherlock spoke and the amount of raw emotion in his voice made his brother blink. “I ran from him when it was the last thing I should do, but I couldn’t think and I needed to think. In the end, this is not his choice, Mycroft. It’s the logical decision considering the circumstances, yes, but there’s not any _choice_. He not only has the Heat and the Omega side trying to make his decisions for him, he has to mate and bond before his Heat will stop. That is not choice, but reaction to the circumstances others have put him in and he should choose his partner.”

Silence again. Then; “And it hasn’t occurred to you that he made that choice long before he had an Omega body?”

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t Sherlock’s scent that he smelled when he woke up. Oh, it was most definitely Alpha, there could be no doubt, and with the tingles it sent all over his body and the extra stickiness it caused down his already slightly slick thighs, it left him in no doubt that his Heat had finally started.

But Sherlock didn’t smell like that; there was a wrong note in that scent and it made him want to gag, even as the Alpha pheromones stirred things in his body. It was putrid and sweet, like blood plasma. Like rot. He didn’t lift his head from the pillow, he didn’t dare to.

“Hello, there, Johnny boy. Did you miss me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now how's that for cliffhanger? I was tempted to end it on Mycroft's last comment, but...I had to get the last bit in.  
> Well, we moved forward in the story, I've enjoyed writing this - and Lestrade. I'm guessing most of you didn't think he'd be a Beta. Next chapter is, unlesss I've miscalculated, going to be the final chapter, with a possible epilogue. It might take a bit before I can get that written and out. So hang tight.  
> Feedback is as always loved, treasured and hoarded and the constructive critisism is appreciated.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock, Mycroft and Lestrade try to figure out how to get to John in time. In the meantime, Moriarty...gets to know John a little better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. Sorry. So sorry - I honestly had no intention of taking this long over it (RL crap, BSOD for both the computer and me and a few other things) - and it even turns out that I *did* miscalculate. This won't be the final chapter, but the second-to-last.  
> Still, at least it's here and it's long. That should be something.  
> Thank for ALL the feedback, people, you are simply fantastic and wonderful for leaving me kudos and comments and subscribing and bookmarking this. Been overwhelming and amazing.

John didn’t answer the voice drifting from the doorway, as he lay perfectly still on his side, heart hammering in his chest as he did his best not to inhale any more pheromones than necessary.

“I sure did miss you, even though I had the pleasure of your ‘company’ earlier today.” The doctor could hear heels clicking against the floor as the other man sauntered closer. “You sure do smell nicer now, though.” There was the probably deliberately audible sound of a sniff. “Mm-mmh, it’s positively delectable. Wonder if one could distil that smell – Heat no 5, hmm?”

The bed dipped and a shudder that unfortunately wasn’t entirely out of repulsion ran through the new Omega as he felt a short, but strong hand land on the covers atop one of his thighs, stroking almost absentmindedly.

“Oh and your little head is positively _buzzing_ with questions. Well, since you’re being such a good, quiet little thing, I might just oblige at least one. I think we’ll start with how I got in here, shall we? How do you make it past all of Mycroft’s oh-so-safe protection?” Even with his rigid back to the madman, John could tell his head was tipping back and forth slightly in mockery.

“I’m a genius,” he suddenly hissed, right up close to the doctor’s ear. “Not some lowly thug that has problems with anything slightly complicated, though this was almost too easy. It really doesn’t take much and honestly, dear brother Mycroft does forget that his little cameras can be used by others. That, a little force and some...persuasion, shall we say?”

He leaned even closer, causing his smell to pour over the doctor and into his nostrils in, leaving him repulsed and aroused at the same time.

“Ever so nice Beta woman, that,” Moriarty said in an almost conversational tone, the danger still lurking in his voice. “Might be someone you’d have hit on, Three Continent Watson? Sweet little couple you’d have been, too, if Sherlock would have let you spend any time with her. Well, too bad, really. I’ve got other plans for you.” Again, the last words were hissed.

John realized what was about to happen a moment too late to be able to prevent it. He felt the needle penetrate the skin of his upper arm and imagined he could feel the chemicals entering his body, making him ever drowsier as the pumping blood brought it around his veins.

“Bad form, I know, injecting such a powerful sedative into you when your body is already pumping so much stuff around it, but then...we can’t have you running out on me and ruin the gift I have for you, can we? No, that just –“, he snapped his fingers and the doctor could vaguely sense the presence of others in the room, “– won’t do at all. Not when I’ve planned something so special for you.”

If the black-haired Alpha said anything else, it didn’t register with John as the sedative finally managed to drag him under and into unconsciousness.

 

Sherlock blinked, slowly and more than once, seemingly in shock, which was almost unheard of. Sherlock Holmes always had the edge, the advantage; he always _knew_. Except, it seemed, when it came to John Watson.

Mycroft sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. This, at least, he could deal with and make an effort to fix sufficient, even if the whole thing was a little grating.

“For one so utterly brilliant, little brother, you are astonishingly imbecilic about social conventions and emotional signals. Yes, he most likely also said yes to bonding because it’s the best chance he has at the moment, but do you really think that if John didn’t actually want _you_ , he would have put up with it? That he’d consent to bind himself, not to mention you, to something as permanent and life-altering as that without there being the dreaded word ‘sentiment’?”

“John is my friend...”

The elder brother growled. “Sherlock Holmes, are you being obtuse on purpose? I told him and I will tell you – _nobody_ bonds with another person because they’re their _friend_. No amount of platonic affection or indeed desire for protection against a madman would be sufficient.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose again. “Apart from that, the two of you have been as obvious as a pair of teenagers, though thankfully not of the female variety and it’s been getting ever so tedious watching the two of you dancing around each other for so long and not getting any closer to actually doing something about it.”

“Then don’t spy on us!” The petulance seemed to be grasped onto merely as a comfort.

“It is surveillance, not spying, and it’s for your own sake. You’re my younger brother; I have an obligation to look after you, even if I don’t always particularly like to.” Mycroft leaned closer. “I dislike sentiment almost as much as you, so I will say this only once. I am fond of John in my own right and I want the two of you to be happy; therefore you will prove to him how much you love him and you will bond with him.”

He sat back in the chair, back to the perfect image of calmness and collected, distant cool that was the mark of an English gentleman and as infuriating to his brother in his current agitated state as he wanted it to be. Sherlock wasn’t necessarily easy to sway, but to get under his skin usually helped, at least for his brother. It was a sibling thing, he suspected.

This time, the younger Holmes wasn’t biting. Instead he slumped into the chair that was positioned in front of the desk. He looked worn out, defeated and insecure in a way that he never should look outside of his acting.

“This...is all rather outside of my area,” he confessed quietly with an unusual note of hesitance in his baritone voice. “Ever since...since I became aware what had happened to John,” he carefully left out mentioning details of the exact event, “I have been more and more at sea with what my mind is telling me I _ought_ to do, what I know I _want_ to do and what my _body_ wants me to do. It’s...I want him, Mycroft, in whatever way I can get him without losing him afterwards.”

Mycroft didn’t say anything in return and after a pause, the dark-haired man continued. “I lied to him. Well, I’ve done that more times than he would probably feel comfortable with knowing about, but that’s neither here nor there. I lied to him about why I wanted the bond; the perfect opportunity was there and I backed out of it, scared out of my wits that I’d blown it all and he would leave, either because of my actions or my words. So I...circumvented the truth. I even...molested him when he had his...mock Heat. I should have known better...”

“But opportunities like that can be hard to pass up, especially when under the influence,” the elder brother finished for him. It was unnerving, to say the least, to see his brother coming apart at the seams, especially now, when the very thing he’d wanted ever since the ex-army doctor and he had moved into a run-down flat together after that first case was in reach.

They had never had a normal relationship, but they were brothers and that counted for something.

“Being maudlin is not going to help much, is it?” he asked, pointedly matter-of-factly. There wasn’t time for the dramatics. “He has clearly forgiven you. Now get your arse out of here and bleeding well take care of him. You’re about to become his Alpha; it’s your duty to protect and look after him, even if he normally is the one to look after _you_.”

Before Sherlock had a chance to react, there could be heard an uncomfortable clearing of a throat. Both brothers turned to look at the detective inspector who had somehow managed to slip back into the room without either of the residents in there noticing.

Arh, Inspector. Brilliant timing, as always,” Mycroft said with an air of ease, standing up and flashing another one of his insincere, civil servant smiles. “If I could prevail upon you to once more suffer Sherlock in your car and bring him to the house where John...” He stopped speaking as Lestrade’s face and accompanying expression became visible to him.

“We have a problem,” the brown-eyed man confessed uneasily, raking a hand through his salt and pepper hair. “I just got a call from one of the nurses attending John. He’s been unconscious for a while apparently, but...”

Sherlock finished for him, his eyes wide in dreadful comprehension. “Moriarty has taken John.”

Greg blew out a breath, willing himself to stand up straight and continue to look at the others, despite both of them drilling holes into him with their eyes. “To put it bluntly, yes. I don’t know the details – the poor guy was an absolute mess, almost unintelligible in his sobbing and apologies.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Lestrade! You’re supposed to be a detective inspector; surely you can manage to interview a witness? Your incompetence never fails to astound!” The snarl in the voice made the words almost unrecognizable.

Lestrade snapped his gaze to the younger Holmes, glad to have something concrete to focus on. “It may have escaped your notice, Sherlock,” he snapped, “but nobody is reliable witnesses when they’re being pressurized into telling what they saw before they’re ready to do so. I know that you’re bound to be angry...”

“Angry! Why on Earth would I ever be _angry_ , Lestrade?” Sherlock said in his best sociopathic, emotionally void tone of voice as he rose from his chair. His eyes were blazing, however, and the scent emanating off him was unmistakeable, not to mention dangerous. “My flatmate and colleague, my best friend, my soon to be _mate_ has been kidnapped by the very psychotic criminal mastermind who has brought him into this entire mess in the first place. More than that, he’s been taken from the very place where I’d been assured that he would be _safe_. No, I can’t possibly fathom why I should be _angry_!”

 

“Time to wake up, Johnny boy. I’ve got something to show you. It’s _terribly_ bad manners to accept a gift without looking at it first.”

“Moriarty...” It was the first thing John was capable of uttering when he started struggling back into consciousness. He didn’t open his eyes, though, as that seemed too much effort right at that moment.

“Oh, no, no, that’s not me. Name’s Richard Brook. It says so on my name tag right here, look, so it must be true, mustn’t it?” The voice got closer and there really was no way of mistaking it, quite apart from the distinct smell, never mind what the owner of the voice claimed. “Wanna guess how I got hold of it? No? Aw, you’re no fun, no fun at all. But I guess that’s the doing of hormones. Now be a good boy and take. Your. Medicine.” The words were hissed and then the voice immediately went back to that lilting, mockingly-sweet tone. “Without struggling too much this time around, if you would be so kind. Really, you’d think that much sedative would have been enough to put you right out – it was last time. I have to hand it to you, Johnny boy, you’re getting better.”

There was a sound indicating a thorough inhalation of the air and then what sounded like an involuntary, lust-filled growl. “You’re getting awfully good, I have to say. Perhaps we should play a little later on, hmm? I did say naughty boys get punished.”

John could feel the heat of a body looming close, even though he still had yet to open his eyes and, desperately attempting to ignore how his body was reacting with keen interest to the Alpha pheromones in the air, he tried to lash out against the black haired man, but to his dismay discovered that he’d been tied down securely.

“Ah, yes,” Moriarty purred, sounding mock-surprised and entirely too pleased with himself. “Not your punishment, though. I rather think you’d _like_ that, wouldn’t you, Johnny?” he breathed into the doctor’s ear. “Being tied down and taken, like a bitch in heat.”

John’s eyes flew open, in spite of the sedative coursing through him still, at the sensation of a finger against his slick hole. He stared into dark brown eyes that were almost swallowed by lust-blown pupils yet still held the danger and the utter madness. He tried to look away, but his chin was grabbed and held in a surprising iron grip, forcing the former Beta to keep looking at the consulting criminal as the finger at his anus started circling, getting ever closer to actually penetrating.

“That’s what you are now, isn’t it? A bitch in heat, but not desperate to be mated and bred. Not yet, anyway. Don’t worry, though, you’ll get there; already reacting so wonderfully to just a little stimulation.” A slow smile spread across the Alpha’s features, wide, pleased and utterly scary. “The incongruity between your body’s wants and your mind’s desires is just...absolutely _beautiful_ to watch. You really couldn’t have been chosen better, even if you _hadn’t_ been Sherlock’s little pet.”

The new Omega did his best to pull his head back, with an intention to connect skulls if possible. Unfortunately, though the hand on his chin did let go, it merely moved to his throat and pushed him back into the mattress he was lying on. The finger at his hole had vanished, but John found little comfort in that, as only a moment later he could feel the cold metal of a needle pushing into one of the arteries in his thigh.

“What are you...planning to...do to me?” he managed to ask through the pain the injection was causing him in spite of the sedative.  “This time?” he added, not able to stop himself.

The Alpha looked nonplussed for a moment; then another smile bloomed across his features, followed by a short laugh. “Oh, you are _gorgeous_!” he beamed and John couldn’t decide whether the snarl or the smile was the most terrifying expression. “It’s almost a shame to have to give you back, Johnny boy.”

“Aw, you thought I wouldn’t?” Moriarty cooed at the other man’s expression. “What would I use an Omega for, then?” he suddenly growled, mood still able to oscillate wildly. “To mate you and breed you? To use you as my personal sex toy every time I felt like it, forcing you into Heat if need be? To parade you and tell the world that not only did I make you swell with children, but that I turned you from a boring, albeit very headstrong little Beta into a most fertile, loyal Omega?”

With a horrifying feeling settling into the pit of his stomach along with all the other pains and chemicals shooting around his body, John realized that though the sneer and disdain of doing the very things he was describing were more than evident in the consulting criminal’s voice, the way he pressed himself close to the former Beta, a very interested cock evident through his well-tailored trousers, and the pheromones told their own, very clear story, not to mention the tight grip he still had on the mostly naked body on the mattress. Not only was John’s Heat coming on ever stronger and making the Alpha almost beside himself with lust, the tight grip signalled a possessiveness that didn’t seem to only have to do with biology.

The worst part of it all was that though John was putting in a massive effort not to, he could feel himself responding to the presence of an Alpha. This Heat was most definitely the genuine article; the body response he’d had from his mock-Heat was nothing compared to the sensations now running through his being, making his body overly sensitive, hot and almost aching in its need. Having an Alpha so close by with his scent clogging the doctor’s nostrils wasn’t making matters any better either. He needed...needed...

He moaned weakly, trying to shift away and press closer all at the same time, body warring with his mind.

For some reason, the semblance of struggle seemed to be enough to snap the consulting criminal back into a semblance of control. He was still pressed close, but the brown eyes regained some focus instead of the lust-addled haze they had previously shown.

“Tempting though all those things are,” Moriarty said, managing to sound completely unaffected despite his slightly ragged breathing, “it just won’t do. We can’t spoil it for good old Sherlock, now can we?” The voice turned to a growl on the last words. He moved away from the bed just enough to get out of John’s personal space and for the doctor’s body to yearn for the contact.

“Oh, the look on his face when he turns up – you won’t mind if I pull out something to drink for the occasion?” he asked pleasantly, mood once again shifting. “I’d offer you some, too, but with all those hormones and chemicals running through your body that would be unwise. Can’t have the uterus developing poorly, can we?”

“You...that...I can’t have...that’s not possible!” John spluttered, finally shocked enough to clear his head of most of the sedative and the lust continually making an effort to clog his mind completely.

“Probable, I think you’ll find was the word you were looking for, given what I’ve already done to you. How does it go? When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth, and I think you’ll find that the truth of the matter is that you _are_ now developing a uterus.”

He paused, looking into the doctor’s eyes that were full of determination despite how he was now beginning to thrash. “Ooh, and now you want me to talk about how I did it and what I’m going to do? What do you take me for, a Bond villain? Well, my dear, ever so sorry to disappoint, but that’s where you’re oh so very WRONG!”

 

Lestrade couldn’t help the step backwards he took as he saw the consulting detective advance towards him.  Being a Beta he was spared registering the overwhelming scent, full of rage, that the Alpha was most definitely putting out, but the menacing yet icy expression adorning the fine features were enough of a give-away, even without his previous familiarity with the expressions of Sherlock Holmes, acted or otherwise.

For a moment the inspector felt certain the younger male would lunge at him simply as an outlet, but it was halted by a firmly restraining hand on one bony shoulder.

“Sherlock, do get a grip. It’s neither the fault of the poor inspector nor-“

Pale blue eyes turned, icy rage blazing. The tone was still deadly calm as he interrupted. “No, you’re absolutely right; he is the unfortunate messenger. You took the responsibility of making sure John would be safe when he went through his Heat, regardless of whether he would have an Alpha or not. But as going for a family member is almost biologically impossible to do, Lestrade will-“

“Not bear the brunt of your rage, no. I sympathize with your feelings, though they are somewhat excessive in comparison to your normal ways, but they will not help us right now. We need to know where Moriarty has taken John.”

“Oh, that,” Sherlock said, his tone derisive in its dismissal. “That’s _easy_ , Mycroft, don’t be dull. He would have stayed in the house if he merely wanted to prove that we could be fallible, either by simple finding John or mate him. But he’s moved him, heavily sedated by my estimation, which means he has something else planned. He needs somewhere that’s quiet and secluded so that the smell of an unbonded Omega in Heat won’t attract unwanted attention. He needs equipment if he’s to do what I suspect him of planning, but…no, Bart’s would be far too obvious a choice, not to mention too crowded. He can get the equipment from anywhere; what he needs is space and seclusion.” His eyes snapped over to focus on Lestrade. “Find out the location of the nearest mortuary – no, stupid, _stupid_ , that would never be abandoned. Find the nearest closed down abattoir. It would certainly appeal to his sick sensibilities.”

“And you don’t think the local riffraff are going to be swarming all over a place like an abandoned abattoir?” Mycroft retorted. “That would hardly make it ideal for the purposes you allude to.”

“Hang on, hang on,” Lestrade interrupted before Sherlock had a chance to reply. “I know how amazing you are at pulling deductions out of seemingly thin air and I respect that fully, but this time you’re pulling it out of your bleeding arse. You have _nothing_ to base that on, nothing at all – are you telling me we’re going on a wild goose chase just on your guesswork, knowing that only God knows what might be happening to John as we speak? That’s just bloody imbecilic!”

“Not guesswork, I _never_ do guesswork, Lestrade,” the dark-haired Alpha snapped back. “Just because I have only the very basic facts to go on doesn’t mean there are not any evidence. The mere fact that t is Moriarty gives me all the evidence I need.” He gave a grim smile.”A sociopath can tell a psychopath; too much in common.”

For a moment, both the elder Holmes and the detective inspector just looked at the consulting detective, staring back at them coolly, but vibrating with anger.

Lestrade was honestly at a loss as to how he should react; to react like he usually did to those kind of remarks Sherlock sometimes made, completely deadpan and flippant, or show the actual concern that he felt.

Mycroft, on the other hand, merely raised an eyebrow; seemingly he wasn’t overly concerned with his brother’s grim proclamation, but then he had more experience with his way of being. There was also the fact that to them the scents they were letting out were telling them more than any word or posture.

“Now, _before_ you rush off,” the ginger-haired Alpha began, “we need some safety so that, for once, you won’t be in danger and you’re in less of a risk of becoming a ploy in his games.”

“Oh, yes, because you’ve so far proved how utterly _impeccable_ you are at keeping people out of danger, haven’t you?” Sherlock snarled back, face finally contorting with anger.

Mycroft didn’t rise to the bait, though for a moment he did look suitably regretful. “I deeply regret the outcome of what was intended to only help you and your future mate, but placing guilt at this moment will not bring him back to you.”

The younger brother stood straight, eyes suddenly inscrutable as they flicked around the room. Then, as if he was a jack in the box released, he bolted, running out of the door in a dash of long limbs and flapping coat.

“Do keep up, the two of you,” he called out as he disappeared down the hallway. “Time is of the essence.”

 

John winced at the volume. He never would get used to the absolutely unhinged way Moriarty’s mood changed, despite his familiarity with Sherlock’s more than erratic behaviour.

Moriarty went back to his calm, jarringly convivial tone of voice. “I suppose I should be grateful, really,” he mused, looking up at the ceiling as he stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets. “It could have been that I’d have to _sing_ , then. Can you imagine that? What would fit better? I always had a fondness for the hammy ways of Price or Curry, but that wouldn’t really do, would it?”

John didn’t bother answering. He was hit with another surge of hormonally spurred desire that, combined with the scent and pheromones permeating almost everything in the room by then, made his cock throb where it lay flushed and hard against his stomach and unwelcome fluids slowly sliding out of his entrance. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought he’d been given some laxative to render him incontinent.

What scared him was not the fact that he felt so achingly empty or that his body was now as Omega as it was possible to be, growing uterus included. It wasn’t even that this wouldn’t stop until he’d been mated and claimed. Well, it was partly that, but more than that it was the realization that eventually he would have to give in and allow anyone with the proper ‘equipment’ to mount him. Even in what had to be the early stages, he was fighting to keep control and not seek out the source of the scent that, entirely unbidden, made his mouth water and his hole clench in anticipation.

“Oh, _ever_ so sorry, Johnny boy, ignoring you in your need. I know I said you deserved to be punished for being naughty, but I think…oh, yes. That would be…”

Before the doctor had a chance to do more than lift his head as much as he was able to, the consulting criminal had moved back so that one finger could be plunged into the leaking entrance. Another finger joined shortly afterwards, but the new Omega barely managed to register the pleasure that coursed through him instead of the pain he’d still somehow been expecting, despite all he knew about the Omega reproductive system, before something much larger than a couple of fingers pressed against his hole. It pressed in, long and thick with an ease that was both gratifying and terrifying.

For a moment, John thought that Moriarty was in the process of trying to bugger him and, with a strength that was lent by panic more than determination, he managed to wrench his foot free enough of the binding to kick out blindly in the direction of the other man. He felt his heel connect with something and heard the retreating footsteps, but he soon realized that, as the fullness in his rear didn’t disappear, that what he’d been impaled with was a dildo. The pulsations he’d thought he’d felt turned out to be a vibrator at the end of the dildo, setting his nerve endings on fire.

Distantly he heard a low chuckle from where the black-haired Alpha presumably lay sprawled on the floor.

“I have to hand it to you, Johnny boy,” he said as he slowly got to his feet, his hand carefully cradling the area of his jaw that John had managed to hit. “That was delightfully unexpected.”

To the doctor’s annoyance and slight terror, he saw another smile bloom on the madman’s face despite how sore his jaw had to be. Then a hand grabbed hold of his freed foot and pinned it into the mattress and it was clear from the iron grip that the jovial tone was a cover. The grip lessened a little after a minute or two and John had a suspicion that the strokes of the thumb were entirely subconscious.

“Sherlock really has no business running out on such a sweet little treat when it’s just _ripe_ for sampling – and ever so willing, too. Really that’s downright criminal in its cruelty. Should we have a word with him when he turns up? Oh, I forget – by that time you’ll be in no fit state to utter much of anything, apart from moans.”

He touched the end of the dildo, increasing the volume and watched the response he got from the body splayed out in front of him. It was one thing to watch the filled entrance spasm around the inserted item and the cock throb, as that was the cause of hormonally driven lust – though it was admittedly a very lovely sight that made the consulting criminal’s own arousal throb further, trapped as it was in the confines of his trousers. Nor was the trembling body, the sheen of sweats or the small moans anything but lovely, but the display of emotions, ranging from hurt to pleasure, despair to determination, lust to loathing, running across the doctor’s face – that was breathtaking. It was a wonder the dark-haired man was able to stand his ground.

It didn’t take long before the poor body couldn’t take any more stimulation after being denied for such an extended amount of time and Moriarty watched, intently, as the doctor experienced his first proper orgasm as an Omega. The body arched as semen from an untouched cock coated not only the stomach, but also some of the chest, and the dildo, which had no knot on it, was almost pushed out by the slick caused by the contractions of his arse.

The Omega slumped as the last vestiges of his orgasm ebbed out, clearly expecting some form of comedown as was the norm for Beta sex. Normally there would be a small refractory period even for Alphas and Omegas as they lay locked together by the Alpha’s knot and in cases where Omegas weren’t serviced in their Heats, there would be something as well. Not as long, but there wasn’t a body that was built for dealing with no amount of respite, even when dealing with procreation.

Moriarty hadn’t had the chemicals for turning a Beta into an Omega made without some form of thought to this, though, and for it to be truly effective for his intentions, it had to have that. For watching John H. Watson, doctor and blogger, war veteran, ladies’ man and loyal friend to the sociopathic Alpha that solved crimes, truly come apart, it had to be spectacular. It would, when said Alpha stormed into the room and saw what his flatmate had been reduced to, be a show worth waiting for.

What he hadn’t quite calculated for, though, was how much the pheromones John himself, post-orgasm and getting hard again already, was now sending out would be affecting him. A little fun before Sherlock decided to show up would probably not hurt, but then he might miss out on the expression on the consulting detective’s face and that just wouldn’t do it all.

Instead he walked over and settled down into the chair he’d occupied while John had been sedated, snatching the glass of wine he’d poured earlier. At least he could enjoy the show while he waited. He smiled like the cat that got the cream as he listened to the sounds emitted by the Omega.

 

“Sherlock bleeding Holmes, _stop_!”

Sherlock ignored the detective inspector as he continued on his way, eyes scanning the area for the evidence of where his soon-to-be mate was being held. He didn’t bother trying to find him by scent as that would be far too pedestrian and not any kind of _fun_.

“Would you damn well hold your blasted horses?” Lestrade could apparently move more quickly than his usual way of conducting himself indicated, as he had caught up with the other man and was holding onto one bony shoulder.  “Charging in with guns blazing is the one bloody way of ensuring this all going tits-up!”

“Is your propensity to have the amount of swearing go up in proportion to how many negative feelings you have at the given moment intentional or the result of subconscious overcompensation?” Sherlock retorted dryly as he merely glanced at the inspector. “It really is most fascinating to watch.”

To the Alpha’s surprise, Greg burst into a short, startled laugh. “Sorry, that was inappropriate,” he said when he stopped. “It...It was just so absurd, seeing you practically bristle with anger, frustration and fear and yet manage to sound so completely...you, I guess.”

He tightened his grip on the shoulder as he felt the other man start to move away. “Not so fast. I know that going with you in there isn’t going to help, but I need to know you’ll be at least somewhat sensible.” He held up a hand to forestall comments. “Yes, yes, sociopath, psychopath. Not the same thing, Sherlock, and really, I don’t believe you. No matter how high-functioning, you wouldn’t move the earth as you do just to make sure another was safe, regardless of instincts and biology.  I need to have a chance to get you both out of there...”

He stopped speaking when he became aware that what he was saying wasn’t filtering through. The consulting detective had a distant look in his eyes as he did when he was in his Mind Palace, deducing, and he forcefully wrenched free and began running towards another rundown, barely standing building that the area seemed strewn with.

In the end they hadn’t ended up at an abattoir, abandoned or otherwise. In fact, they’d barely gotten into the car before Sherlock had demanded that they drove towards a derelict school planned for demolition by the council. The inspector had raised an eyebrow at that, but had foregone to comment; instead he’d put his foot down and the siren on, driving there as fast as he possibly could. The longer they spent, the more likely the possibility that something irrevocable would happen to John.

As he watched the curly-haired man disappear into the nearest building, Lestrade sighed and raked a hand through his salt and pepper locks. There wasn’t much point in trying to keep up with the younger Holmes – only one person ever managed that, physically – and he had other things that needed his attention if they were to have any chance of getting both occupants of 221b Baker Street out of there safely.

He fished out his mobile and dialled a number.

 

Sherlock searched through the buildings, not even bothering with most of the rooms. Normally he would have sneered at the location, but the urge to find John and make him safe was growing ever stronger and so he had little time for anything else.

There was a sound, faint and distant. Then he heard it again shortly afterwards, more clearly identifiable as a moan then, and he took off in the direction it had come from. Whether it was his logical brain managing to rein in his Alpha instincts somewhat or just a rare dose of self-preservation, he didn’t charge through, but kept as quiet as he possibly could.

He knew he’d gotten the right room long before he could see anything. The smell of an Omega in Heat was starting to be noticable the air and Sherlock felt his nether regions automatically responding. It was all he could do to keep in control of his senses.

When he got a glimpse of the room itself, seen through a windowed door, it became even harder. John, strapped onto a mattress without any clothes on, moaning quietly at times as his body was wrecked with the effects of Heat, occasionally bucking as sensations built. What held his attention was the face with its eyes squeezed tightly shut and jaw clamped firmly, the array of emotions evident even as sheer exhaustion crept over every feature.

“Really, I would have thought that you’d been taught better than to sneak around like that. What _would_ dear big brother say? Or should that be capitalized?”

The voice came from behind him, but the consulting detective didn’t turn around. There was a low chuckle.

“Beautiful, isn’t he? Enticing even when you only have the visual. Truth be told, he’s surprised me. Never thought he’d be able to withstand begging for that long. The others certainly never managed that extended a period.”

“A bit out of character for you to go kill someone who’s been intent on someone who’s only one in a long line of experiments, I would have thought.”

Another chuckle was heard after a moment of silence. “Irene was interfering and overstepping a boundary. That just didn’t do. You know how annoying it can be when an experiment is disturbed and your data points get messed up.”

Despite himself, Sherlock found himself nodding. “I have to say, I’m mildly impressed. Why, though?”

“Sherlock. Sherlock, dear Sherlock.” The tone was chiding and slightly condescending. “You disappoint me. Surely you’ve worked that out already?”

The consulting detective didn’t answer, but moved forward to push open the door. A smallish, yet strong hand landed on his shoulder, holding him back. He looked over the shoulder, taking his first look at the other Alpha, eyes narrowed.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. The smell might be detectable at this distance, but I assure you that opening that door would be far from advisable. A seal doesn’t work if it’s broken and he is...rather far along.” The smaller man stepped closer, coming to stand right behind Sherlock. “We wouldn’t want to fight like thuggish Alphas over the breeding rights to the same Omega, would we?” he asked in a falsely pleasant voice, his occasionally lilt clear.

“Pointless.” How the consulting detective kept his calm and cool, at least outwardly, he hadn’t a clue. “I looked at your notes. The chemicals you’ve...administered do not have any capabilities beyond overriding the gender by blood and adding the hormones responsible for triggering Heat and the corresponding...slickness. Or, as has been the case with your own change, developing the knot and so forth. They cannot create what isn’t there already.”

The hand moved from the shoulder up to the long neck where it curled around the back of it, gripping and digging its fingers in ever so slightly. Sherlock, somehow managing not to jerk away from the contact, felt nauseous by the somewhat rotting, cloyingly sweet smell the other Alpha was emitting as the consulting criminal leaned right in close and whispered, breath ghosting over the shell of the ear.

“And what, exactly, gives you the notion that, if I’m capable of changing him from a Beta to an Omega that I’m somehow incapable of finding a way to make him...fully functional in his new secondary gender?”

Sherlock felt the fingers press harder against the back of his neck. Despite himself, his brain worked to figure out the answer to the question and it was almost a relief to have something else to focus on besides the constant litany in his brain going _JohnmyJohnhavetoprotectJohnheisminenooneelsecanhavehimmustprotectsafeJohnmatebreedminematemineJOHN._ He felt it all and they were true, if staggeringly intense feelings, but that in itself was overwhelming and there was a fear that he might let his instincts overrule him at the most inopportune moment.

“You wanted to see it done successfully,” he said, carefully, deliberately in an effort to focus on that and not his instincts. “He’s proven himself capable of dealing with the changes your first injection wrought, even overcoming the mock-Heat without being...claimed and turning down unwanted Alphas.”

“Intriguing, but oh, so very _wrong_ ,” Moriarty hissed. “I’ve _done_ that before with headstrong Betas and they all give similar results. Oh, I’ll grant you John’s quite unique – oh and didn’t _that_ perk you up, praise showered on your Omega from another Alpha – but to merely give him a reproductive system for the sake of the experiment is quite pointless.”

“Why, then?”

“Oh, Sherlock, don’t be dull” Moriarty chided, voice soft yet dangerous, as he released his grip, but didn’t step back. “Because I could! Because seeing you, both of you, being so completely out of your depth have been so much _fun_ , seeing you come apart especially. The womb was just the cherry on top.”

“Now, though,” he continued, sounding mock-thoughtful. Sherlock turned his head to see that the other Alpha was looking through the door at the poor man writhing on the bed. “Now, I think I might have changed my mind. I’m not sure at all that I want to give him back after all. He really is quite...exquisite, isn’t he?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I profusely apologize once more. I *did* have the intention of ending the story with this chapter, but then it kept getting longer (if you can tell I've been struggling with this, I apologize for that, too) and I wanted it to at least flow. So here we go, I hope not to leave you hanging too long for the resolution.
> 
> Feedback, including concrit, is loved and treasured


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final 'showdown' with Moriarty and the aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! It's here! I am so sorry it has taken me this long to get it out. I guess it's a bad plan to try and write a climax to a story in December. That said, the amount of absolutely gorgeous feedback on this is still overwhelming me. It's been a wonder and a joy. We even passed 700 subscribers! :O Thank you so much, everyone!
> 
> A *HUGE* thank you goes to the two amazing ladies, daleked and TheMadKatter13, who has been more than kind in taking the time to beta this for me. It has been invaluable and any remaining cock-ups are mine.

Sherlock was surprised at how calm he was able to remain even after a statement that made his blood both boil and run ice cold at the same time. By all standards, especially given how he’d been reacting to things since John’s change had begun, he should be frothing at the mouth and going for the other Alpha in a bid to prevent him going anywhere _near_ Sherlock’s mate ever again.

But then, it wasn’t just another Alpha. It was Jim Moriarty, consulting criminal and resident psychopath, a man who had managed to outfox both Mycroft Holmes and Sherlock himself. More than once at that, loathe as he was to admit it. He had to get John out of there; had to make sure he was safe. That took precedent above everything else, even the instinctual urge to mate and breed, and with that firm goal at the forefront of his mind he could push his emotions and instincts to the back of his mind until he could use them. Control and timing was paramount. He let a cold sense of detachment and determination settle over him.

“That he most definitely is,” he agreed after a while, buying time. “But judging from the rather beautiful bruise you’re sporting, he’s also still capable of saying ‘No’, even when incapacitated by hormones. I have to say, though; he never kicked _me_.”

Moriarty only snorted. “No, he merely put you in a lock and forced you into your own bedroom, then had to drag you in there again after he drugged you. Chloroform, was it?” He paused to examine other man’s expression then tutted. “Oh, as if you weren’t aware your dear brother has had a camera installed in your living room.”

The consulting detective forewent a response as his eyes were still glued to his friend, clearly in pain as he sought any kind of relief.

A small motion from the other caught his attention, though it was almost lost in the general movement of the body. But it struck him as off somehow and he therefore filed it in his mind for later,  just in the event that it would be of importance later. For that purpose, he was careful not to let his observation show in front of Moriarty.

Sherlock spun around on his heel, letting his usual dramatic flair mask that he’d noticed something as well as how difficult it had been for him _to_ turn away. It was vital to keep the consulting criminal’s attention on him while he worked out how to gain the upper hand and ultimately incapacitate him, even if that meant killing him.

There was no emotion in that thought; it was merely a fact. He had taken something that was Sherlock’s and he would _pay_. He had promised John that.

He took several steps away from the door he’d been standing in front of, however hard those steps were.

Moriarty held his ground in the middle of the slightly larger room anterior to the one where John was being held. He did turn, however, to keep the consulting detective in view as he walked around him.

“I am curious. You have gone to such lengths to ensure that the pheromones he’d start producing as a new Omega would be matched as well as possible to my own, ensuring that my instincts would kick into overdrive, making him ideally suited to me on a biological level.” He gave a fleeting, cold smile. “Except he already was ideally suited to me even before you had the audacity to kidnap him and pump him full of chemicals.”

Moriarty, obviously feeling sickeningly playful, feigned indignation and injury. “Are you implying that I am only interested in him because he’s got something to do with you? I am simply _mortified_ by the accusation, Sherlock. Abominable thought, that is.”

In an attempt to annoy, the consulting detective deliberately gave the impression that he hadn’t heard the other man and so continued speaking. “He has been my equal and my partner in every sense of the word, Beta or otherwise, since the day he shot a cabbie – one hired by you – to save me from dying in the process of being too clever by half. So do tell me; what on _Earth_ makes you think that I would have _any_ intention of letting you get away with trying to defile _my_ John?”

His voice was quiet, almost at odds with the content of his words, but the tone was deadly in its flat seriousness and he was aware that his body was pumping out pheromones like mad, emphasizing his tone with promise. The fact that they were clashing with the pheromones the other Alpha was sending out, the smells twisting together in a sick mess in the process only fuelled him.

For a moment, dark brown eyes narrowed, turning icy and deadly, and Sherlock was reminded of just why this man was a consulting criminal and the apparent mastermind behind the most fascinating of his most recent cases. Then Moriarty broke into a positively gleeful smile and that mad glint danced in his eyes.

“You two really are precious. This is even better than watching you stomp around crime scenes and trying to follow the bread crumbs I leave out for you to find.”

He was suddenly up close in the other’s personal space, not quite touching, before the younger Holmes had time to blink. “I think that because you won’t have any choice in the matter, my dear,” he growled, somehow still pleasant and with the smile still intact. “Because by the time I’m ready to... _defile_ him, as you so nicely put it, you won’t be in any position to do anything about it. At all.”

Then he _was_ touching, letting his hand fall on one bony shoulder, and it sent the most unpleasant shivers down Sherlock’s spine, though he schooled himself to neither flinch away nor shove the man away. There was something far more important than his personal comfort on the line.

 “Oh, you thought I wouldn’t touch you after the little confession about John earlier, did you?” The words were crooned. “Ever so sorry to disappoint, but I don’t intend to settle on just the Omega. Irene had that much right – it’s always a treat to experience what another Alpha can do.”

Moriarty moved his hand up from the consulting detective’s shoulder and let it trail ever so slowly up the long neck and strong line of the jaw. It was almost tender and it made Sherlock want to gag – or rip out his throat. Either course of action seemed equally appealing.

For a few moments they just stood there, one softly caressing and the other standing frozen. Something flickered in those dark eyes and then the hand was no longer caressing, but instead gripping the jaw.

“I didn’t pick your little John at random, remember,” the shorter Alpha hissed. “You were always in my plans, _Sherlock_. I just didn’t predict just how wonderfully you’d go to pieces over what I’d done to your doctor and how unpredictably wonderful and delicious he’d turn out to be.” He grinned. “Truly, my lucky day.”

Sherlock couldn’t tear his gaze away, for once truly horrified by the implications of what he was hearing. That meant that he didn’t see the figure behind Moriarty until the other Alpha gasped and sank to the floor, unconscious by the time his head hit the concrete.

The consulting detective looked up to find John standing on the other side of the fallen body, naked, panting, and trembling with the effects of Heat. In one hand he held an empty wine bottle and in the other he held a syringe, almost empty and dripping at the tip with the remaining drops of liquid.

Their eyes met and the new Omega managed a weak smile despite the exhaustion that still somehow failed to mask the grim determination that poured off him. The whole thing looked horribly off.

“You all seem to keep forgetting I was a soldier,” was all he said, quietly, and in that moment every cell in Sherlock’s body longed to rush forward and enfold the extraordinary being that was his John Hamish Watson, and it didn’t even have anything to do with the pheromones slowly turning his brain into a combination of mush and a pounding beat of need and want.

Before he had a chance to say or do anything at all, though, the strength with which he’d been holding himself upright and together seemed to drain out of the doctor. His eyes closed slowly and his knees buckled as he slipped into semi-unconsciousness. He was only prevented from collapsing on top of the sedated Alpha on the ground by the consulting detective barely managing to catch him as he fell.

It was beyond difficult to ignore the biological urges this close to an Omega so deeply in the clutches of Heat as John was, even when said Omega was currently mostly unconscious. It had been hard enough when the doctor had only had his pseudo-Heat – never mind the fact that he hadn’t actually managed to resist _then_ – and that had been nothing compared to the amount of pheromones and the scent of sweat, slick and _Heat_ now infiltrating his nose. Slumped against him John was at the perfect height for Sherlock to get his nose into the indent of skin where neck met shoulder and inhale the heavenly scent that had never quite left his olfactory memory – though he had made extensive efforts to remove that memory –  after he had first smelled it.

This turned out to be a bad idea; the scent was overwhelming and the urge to mark and bite, to claim and breed overtook his brain. If it had been bad the first time John had smelled like this, it was exquisite torture this time and there was no chance of resisting.

A hand grabbed hold of first one shoulder and then the other and Sherlock was yanked backwards rather forcefully. At the same time, someone else had stepped in to grab hold of the limp form of John, which made the consulting detective thrash in the annoyingly strong grip; he would not be separated from his mate, especially when said mate was vulnerable and in Heat. The one to breed the Omega was to be him; he was _Sherlock’s_.

He snarled and growled and tried to wrestle free. Then something closed over his mouth and nose and for a moment, he fought even harder to get free. When his head had cleared somewhat of the pheromones and hormones fogging his brain, though, he recognized it for what it was – a mask that was dulling his ability to smell the scents in the air sufficiently for him to claw back some semblance of mind.

“I found it prudent to have some...extra reinforced masks made for eventualities such as this,” came an annoyingly familiar, though not entirely unwelcome, voice of his brother from close behind him.

Sherlock gave an inclination of his head in acknowledgement, but didn’t turn around from keeping a suspicious eye on the figure he now recognized as Lestrade holding onto John as best he could given how the mostly unconscious Omega was still trembling and moaning ever so faintly. The silver-haired man had dragged him a little way away from Moriarty on the floor.

When the detective inspector reached down between tanned legs, however, the curly-haired Alpha was only held back by his brother’s tight grip. He relaxed ever so slightly once he saw that the Beta was removing a dildo from the poor man’s abused hole, letting it drop onto the floor with a sickening slap, but tensed right up again as the new wave of scent went through even the reinforced masks.

“Easy, Sherlock, calm down; I’m not going to take him away from you,” Greg tried to placate in a tone of voice that was both soothing and commanding and the Alpha only then realized his attempt at moving had once again been halted by his brother and that he was growling. “Just a lowly Beta, remember? No threat at all, no matter what your Alpha instincts are filling your head with at the moment. Never mind that I’d never do that to a friend in any case. Let’s get both of you somewhere slightly more savoury than this before you ravish him.”

The inspector glanced back to where, presumably, Mycroft was still standing, which seemed to be close behind Sherlock, just in case the Alpha made another attempt to claim back his Omega, and continued, “Actually, I’m going to go ahead with him. He needs fluids inside him, badly, if he’s to make it through this relatively unscathed. We’ll forego the – good grief, the stink in here is unbearable! Ta ever so for not thinking a Beta needs one against this onslaught.”

He hoisted the not inconsiderable dead weight of the doctor up as best he could, draping him across one half of his back so that he could half lead, half carry the Omega out. “I need a ten minutes head start, at the very least, Mycroft,” he called out as they went through the exit.

As soon as the Omega was no longer close by, the scent started dissipating slowly through the holes in the somewhat dilapidated roof and Sherlock’s brain slowly crawled out of the mush of lust it had descended into. Eventually it had lifted enough that he could pull his mask off.

For a while, the brothers stood and regarded one another in silence and with no discernible expressions. The consulting detective occasionally looked down at the sedated form on the concrete floor, face impassive apart from the slight twitch around his eye and the corner of his mouth.

“He is regaining consciousness,” Mycroft commented calmly, never once having looked away from the younger Holmes’ face.

Keeping his own gaze locked firmly on the elder Holmes, Sherlock pulled out something with a metallic glint from the pocket of his Belstaff. A harsh, unmistakable sound echoed throughout the building once, twice and they both stepped away so as not to get their shoes soiled.

Silence bloomed after that.

Eventually, the elder Holmes spoke, quiet but powerful. “You should go to him, now. It is safe. You need him. He needs you.”

The consulting detective Alpha nodded, almost imperceptibly. Then he turned on his heel and walked away so swiftly that it could have been called a run, dark coat billowing out behind him.

It was a good thing Anthea was the one in charge of the vehicle waiting for him, Mycroft mused. Get between an Alpha and his intended mate and suffer the consequences.

 

* * *

 

“Greg?” The voice was slurred and hoarse, barely intelligible.

“Yeah, mate, it’s me. Here, see if you can drink this. Yes, that’s good, get it all down. You’re gonna need it.”

“Need...need you...”

The detective inspector stilled, then took a careful step away from the bed. “No, you don’t. I can’t say I can’t smell you and Christ, it’s almost overwhelming, but I neither can nor want to breed you, John. I know you’re desperate by now, but he’ll be here soon, I promise. He– Oh, god, like I needed that mental picture. Again!”

“Please...It bloody _hurts_ , Greg!”

Lestrade couldn’t help his smile. Now _that_ sounded more like the John Watson he knew. “I hear you, mate, I hear you. It won’t be long now – I’m amazed you’ve managed some semblance of control as long as this, with two Alphas nearby.”

John seemed to surface from beneath the fog of lust a little more. “I...wasn’t about...nngh...to let...that arsehole...mmmh...defile _my_...so empty...need...bloody Alpha.”

Greg shook his head. “Only you, John. Only you,” he said with a touch of friendly fondness. He frowned, listening to something; then he smiled. “Seems like your waiting time is over; the cavalry is here.”

He stepped towards the door of the room, reaching it just as it burst inwards to reveal one curly haired Alpha. He looked calm enough until you looked into his eyes and saw the pupils had already dilated. With the first proper sniff of John, though, they overtook almost the entire iris.

“I’ll...ah, I’ll just be going, then,” the inspector mumbled as he slipped past, careful not to do anything to cause anger from the possessive Alpha. Sherlock didn’t hear him.

John lifted his head as best he could from his position lying on his back on the bed. Perhaps it had helped that now Sherlock was more familiar with the scent he was putting out or perhaps he’d had outside help somehow; the Omega honestly didn’t know. But whatever the reason, it was not the slightly deranged, completely biologically driven creature that had taken over Sherlock in the mock-Heat who stood before him, but an Alpha who retained some semblance of mind even though he was clearly affected by the pheromones.

Then the consulting detective’s own pheromones hit the poor Omega and it was clear to Sherlock that John could help neither the moaning pants nor the slight lift of his hips. The look in his eyes as they remained fixed on the taller man were still pure _John_ , though, and for that alone Sherlock loved him.

“If you’re...going to...oh, god...do something...I suggest you...mmmh...get over here...right now, you git. I _need...nngh..._ you.”

At that, the genius seemed finally able to move. He’d been happy to spend a while just drinking in the sight and smell of his Omega, laid out for him and ever so willing. But having his John practically demanding to be taken, to be marked and filled, even if it was not explicitly said like that, that proved too much to withstand. He advanced on the bed, shedding clothes as he went, eyes never once leaving his prey.

“God, John, the smell of you,” he gasped as soon as he got close to the bed, collapsing onto it beside his flatmate. The heat emanating off the Omega’s body was amazing and it made the cock still trapped by a pair of snug boxers throb in its confines. “You smell absolutely _divine_...have to smell you properly...” He lowered his nose until it brushed against the soft, delectable skin on the tanned stomach, making both of them moan.

The urge just to take him then and there, to sink his teeth into soft skin and mark until the bond was complete and there was no longer any doubt to whom John belonged, was more than tempting. In fact, there was not much else in his mind beside the need to bury himself in this wonderful Omega, his soon-to-be-mate in every way he possibly could, to soak and bathe in this feeling of rightness, of pure and utter _desire_. He moaned again as his nose trailed across every inch of skin he could reach without moving.

This had been too long in coming, however, and John deserved to know that though he may now be an Omega with all that entailed, it didn’t have to change who he was or how he was treated, with the obvious exception of the significant changes that were going to come as a result of becoming _Sherlock’s_ fully and truly.

Where his nose went, his tongue followed, licking at salty, sweaty skin that trembled under his tongue’s administration. Occasionally, when he reached an area that seemed to be extra sensitive, he would nip at the skin which earned him a moan and a slight buck of the hips under him.

“Mine,” he growled when John tangled his hands in dark curls and tried to direct his head to where he needed it, to no avail. “You’re mine, John and I will do with you as I see fit.” He emphasized his point by grabbing a firm hold of tanned legs and licking a trail from hip bone down to the middle of the inner thigh, only lightly teasing at the cock that jumped at every slight bit of attention as he went and ignoring his own burning need to sink any part of himself into that slick cavern just begging to be filled.

John growled back at him, fingers still tangled, bucking his hips more forcefully. “Cut the...bleeding Alpha... _bull_ ,” he panted. “I have been...in bloody... _agony_ for almost...twenty four hours...I need... _something_ in me...right _now_...and I swear I’ll...fuck myself on...the bedpost...if you keep delaying.”

Sherlock couldn’t help his smirk. This was yet another point to prove that first and foremost, John was John, not a Beta or an Omega.

“As you wish,” was all he said and with that he finally let his tongue touch that opening that had been beckoning him since he’d entered the room – since he’d first encountered it properly in the warehouse, really.

At first he merely circled his tongue around it in licks, alternating between soft, long strokes and hard, short ones and never once delving into the entrance itself, earning him actual whimpers from the other man.

“God, Sherlock...don’t tease...I can’t...god, feels so...oh...” the Omega moaned and then his back arched and he groaned loudly when the tongue finally filled him, pushing past the Heat-relaxed ring of muscles and into his passage where it continued its pattern of soft and long then quick and short and back, lapping up the fluid produced as best it could.

John moaned and writhed as his Alpha continued his ministrations, knowing on instinct just how he should push and press and lick. Oh, he’d had oral sex often enough in his life and had performed it himself on several female conquests, much to their delight; he had even had the pleasure of being filled by that vibrating dildo. But nothing had felt like this; the nerve-endings singing as they flooded his system with sensory information, the tingling rush of blood in his veins pumping through him, the constant pounding of _need_ pulsing in him. It turned every touch into a battle between being too much and never being enough. He felt so full, ready to burst, and yet so empty, needing to be filled.

When Sherlock found his prostate and pressed first the tip, then the flat of his tongue against it, then the tip again as he pressed harder, the stimulation proved too much and John shuddered and cursed as he came, once more by only rectal stimulation enhanced by Heat. His cock spurted over his stomach, untouched, back arching and fists clenched into the already mangled sheets.

The consulting detective continued licking softly as he slowly withdrew, savouring the extra sweet taste of the slick present when an Omega came. He let out a contented hum indicating that he could have stayed there for hours, eating out his mate, and if it wasn’t for the Heat driving everything else from him but the need to take and claim, he would have.

“Sherlock, please,” the doctor said, voice uncharacteristically pleading and yet somehow still  characteristically demanding. ”God, I can’t take this. Need you...need you to do something...about this,” he groaned as he attempted to roll onto his stomach, but was prevented by the hands still on his thighs, gripping him and holding him in place. “Dammit, would you let me move?” he growled in frustration. “I need you to fuck me and do it _now_ or I might well burst!”

His outburst didn’t quite give the impact he was most likely going for given the moan he gave just after as his cock slowly hardened against his stomach again. “Please!” His voice was a mix between another groan and a whine.

The Alpha gave a groan of his own, deeply felt and guttural, when a fresh bout of pheromones was released into the air, driving almost all cognitive thought from his mind, and, after shucking off his boxers, the last remaining article of clothing between them, climbed up the body under him until he could reach the lips of his Omega.

“Mine,” he growled just before his own lips descended. When they connected, the incessant pounding of need grew even stronger and they battled for dominance until with a whimper, John seemed to acquiesce and let his mouth be plundered.

Sherlock tore himself away from those lips, leaving John looking dishevelled and positively edible, and descended upon the soft and inviting neck instead, sniffing and licking. “God, if you knew what you...your smell...how anyone...could resist...but now you are mine...no one else...I’m going to mark you...claim you...make you mine... _my_ Omega...” he rumbled against the skin and let his teeth lightly graze over it which earned him another shudder and a small whimper. “My _John_!” he whispered, tenderly, fiercely.

He caught hold underneath the doctor’s knees and encouraged him to lift his legs as Sherlock captured his lips in another kiss. The Omega responded by hooking his legs over the consulting detective’s shoulders, linking his feet in order to gain some form of leverage and pulling him as close as he possibly could. It brought their groins into contact for the first time and they both moaned.

“God, would you _get on_ with it!” John groaned. He canted his hips and thrust them down as best he could from the position he was in. “I need so...so bad...feel so...so goddamned _empty_...need you...need you to fill...to fill me up...” He thrust his hips again and the head of Sherlock’s cock nudged at his entrance. “I need you to...make me feel...feel _whole_ again!”

“And I shall,” Sherlock promised, his voice gone dark, a little deeper and slightly gravelly. He looked at his mate until their eyes locked and then slowly began pushing inside. “I shall...oh, god...fill you until...you are...mmmh, so tight...positively overflowing,” he groaned as he pushed in, clutching onto the linen on either side of the doctor. When he was fully inside at last, he let out a shaky breath, body trembling.

“Oh, god, yes. Yes!” The Omega hissed, throwing his head back at the positively exquisite feeling of finally being filled by a real Alpha, being surrounded by the body and the smell of the Alpha he’d wanted for so long. It had felt so good when he’d been filled by that tongue, but it was nothing in comparison to having the Alpha’s cock inside him, filling him up and quelling that nagging emptiness.

It would help immensely, however, if he could convince the man to move.

He was about to demand just that, but when he looked up at the detective, his eyes were screwed tightly shut and his breathing was laboured.

“Sherlock,” John said in a questioning tone of voice as he trailed a hand up one trembling arm boxing him in, managing to push his need in the background in favour of concern. “Sherlock, are you alright?”

The eyes slammed open and the doctor gasped. There was almost nothing to be seen of the pale irises, consumed as they were by heavily dilated pupils.

“You have no idea...how good you feel,” Sherlock groaned as he lowered his head down as best he could with the position they were in and nuzzled at the other man’s neck and shoulder. “God, I’ve wanted this...feels too good...not going to last...very long...”

“Me either,” John panted. “It doesn’t matter...just...I want you...please...please!”

Sherlock let out another groan and started to move, slowly at first. When John canted his hips again and thrust up as the Alpha’s hips thrust down, causing him to go deeper and be clamped down on as internal muscles squeezed, it encouraged him to pick up the pace. His hips started moving ever quicker, the movements made easy by the stream of fluid leaking out of that gorgeous entrance.

John keened and writhed as they moved, digging his heels into the shoulder of the younger Holmes and trying to get him to go even deeper. Deeper, harder, faster. Anything, as long as it didn’t stop.

He felt as if his entire body had been set on fire with sensation and it was killing him with its sweetness. His world had contracted to nothing but his own desperate, keening need, the sensations crashing over him in waves and the Alpha cock thrusting into him, hitting that sweet spot with every single slam of bony hips.

“Yes, oh, god, yes, please, deeper, need you,” he panted, throwing his head backwards and arching his back as he met every thrust. He didn’t care about the picture he presented then; he couldn’t at that point, too consumed with want, hormones and a need that had gone unfulfilled for far too long.

“Fill me up, please. Fuck me. Please, harder. Fuck me. Take me apart. Make me full!” The words spilled out from somewhere he wasn’t quite sure about, but there was no way he was able to stop them. “Oh, yes. Yes, right there...God, never thought I’d feel...Christ, I’m close. I’m so close. Please...knot me...knot me hard. Mark me. _Breed me_.” He ended on another keening noise as he tried for just that little bit extra stimulation that would push him over.

Sherlock seemed to comply with his wishes, mumbling about John being his and trembling all over as he thrust harder and harder; the knot had started to grow at the base of his cock, catching on the rim of John’s entrance with every push in and pull out. When the shorter man lowered one leg to let it hook over the Alpha’s hip instead, the angle changed and that, on the next thrust in with the knot able to push fully inside along with the cock, was enough to push the Omega over. He keened and cursed as it washed over him, driving everything from his mind but the pleasure and the need to become one with his Alpha.

He could feel the knot growing steadily  with every push, as the younger Holmes kept going, pushing past the muscles clamping down on the cock inside him, spreading him more and more as it pressed past his entrance. Then it suddenly seemed to expand violently as soon as it had pushed in, locking the cock inside as it started spurting hard and fast, throbbing out every last piece of sperm it could. Above him, Sherlock almost howled with it and slumped forward.

It felt strange and yet so exquisitely good; that feeling of not only having come inside his body for the first time, but to feel full with it and to have that burning emptiness finally quenched and soothed, to feel his body rejoice with the knowledge that this was his Alpha’s seed and it would impregnate him. It should be absolutely terrifying to him and on some level where the rational, normal John resided it was, but the sensation was just too good to be ignored right then. Everything just felt _right_.

Then there was another sensation, or rather, he became aware of something other than the member still throbbing and twitching inside him. Sherlock was biting him; biting down on the place where neck met shoulder and piercing it. He was marking him, claiming him; he was starting the bond between them.

Dimly, John remembered that he was supposed to do the same. The instincts of the Omega weren’t all ingrained into him on a bone-deep level yet, it seemed, but he managed to locate the same spot on the Alpha’s neck and bit down himself, sealing the bond as blood and saliva was passed between them.

It should have been a case of too much stimulation, but it only added to the afterglow and pleasure of it all. In fact, it set off another small orgasm for both of them, making them groan as they kept hold of the flesh in their mouths, being careful to let it begin healing as it was supposed to.

When Sherlock finally pulled away and looked at him, John was able to see both the Alpha that was a servant to his biology and the need to protect his mate as well as the man that he’d originally fallen in love with, gender roles irrelevant, and they both took his breath away.

One bony hand came up to cup his face in a move that was not only possessive, but also clinical and tender; everything that was and had been Sherlock Holmes, before and during John’s change from Beta to Omega.

“You are mine, John Watson. Whether Beta or Omega, or even Alpha, you are mine as I am yours.”

“I was always yours, you berk,” John smiled, sated and relieved. The tension throughout everything had been far too high for far too long and he felt himself getting dragged down quickly by exhaustion into sleep.

Therefore he completely missed the slightly stunned expression on the Alpha’s face as well as the moisture that filled those pale eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

John woke up some time later, tired and sore, but feeling more at peace than he had in what felt like forever. He couldn’t have slept for too long, though, as he could still feel the knot tying the two of them together, though it had softened considerably. It most likely wouldn’t be long before it would slide out completely.

What he could also feel was that he was cocooned in his very own Alpha, the body on top of him breathing heavily, but apparently not sleeping, if the tension in his body was anything to go by.

“So...” the doctor began, a little hesitantly. “Did you have any plan of telling me of the fact that you’ve been leaving scent marks on me for a while?”

The head resting on his chest didn’t move, but he could feel the snort. “I’ve been leaving them on you for more than a while, John. Do keep up.”

_Ah. So he’s somewhat back to his normal self_ , the Omega thought a little ruefully. “You know, that detached tone works a whole lot better when you’re not draped across me and using my chest as a pillow,” he pointed out. “But why not tell me?”

“You weren’t gay.”

“And you were married to your job,” John countered, “besides being an Alpha. Alphas don’t go for Betas. Your words.”

“They don’t.” Sherlock felt the body underneath him tense up and let out a low rumble to soothe. “But you weren’t a Beta. You were John Watson, extraordinary ordinary and perfect.”

“I guess that’s residual hormones talking.”

The consulting detective finally raised his head so that he could fix his new mate with a hard look. “Are you being dull on purpose?” he questioned, sounding frustrated as well as indignant and hurt. “I’ve had trouble controlling my responses to you lately because of hormones, yes, and whatever was added to your injection for my benefit, but don’t you think for even one _moment_ that that is the reason for this. I meant it, John. You are mine. You were always mine; this just gave both of us a push in the right direction.”

John blushed. Sherlock was as blunt as ever, but that he was using that bluntness for giving compliments was rather new and a little disconcerting.

“Erhm, yes...I guess. I...hope you don’t expect me to thank him for it.”

“That’s not possible.”

Something in the voice tipped him off and his eyes widened, then narrowed. “Not pos-? Oh, god, you killed him, didn’t you?”

Sherlock seemed to show no remorse; he didn’t even blink. “He had no business dragging you into our Game, putting that kind of strain on you. Apart from trying to nose in on what wasn’t his.”

“You can’t-“

One eyebrow rose. “Oh, but I could, John. Another Alpha challenging my claim; I was perfectly within my rights to protect what was mine. The law states as much.”

John let out the kind of exasperated groan that Sherlock had always secretly enjoyed. “You still can’t kill the man, that’s not...oh, blast!  Compassionate Omega behaviour, for bloody Moriarty, too! Body changing I can handle, but...”

The dark haired man laid his head down again, unconsciously nuzzling into the hollow where he’d bitten earlier. The knot had gone completely at that point and he’d slipped out. “Compassionate doctor, I think you’ll find. The injections haven’t changed a single important thing about you.”

The doctor couldn’t help his snort. “Yeah, not a thing. Apart from my gender and the absolute miniscule fact that I am now able to get pregnant.”

Pale eyes fixed on him again, one eyebrow cocked. “As I said, nothing important changed. Now do stop attempting to get up. I’m comfortable.” To underline his point, he nuzzled deeper and tangled their legs together.

John, in response, tangled his hands in dark curls, starting to massage the scalp. “My very own Alpha blanket,” he mused. “Who would have thought it?”

“Everyone but you.”

There was something comforting in that familiar tone of voice indicating he was being an idiot. “Then why not tell me about it?” he insisted.

“Sociopath,” Sherlock reminded him.

“Idiot,” John countered.

“That as well.” The tone voice was without any kind of flair or defence. It was merely a statement of the truth.

“So all this time...” John trailed off, still a little uncertain, despite all that had happened. Then his mouth was captured by cupid bow lips and pushed open so that he could be snogged thoroughly.

 When they parted, both a little breathless, Sherlock looked decidedly smug. “Yes, John. You’re finally learning. The sentiment has been there all the time.” With that, he lowered his head again.

“We’re both idiots, then.” The Omega looked down. “Oi. Don’t fall asleep on me. What about work. What if it turns out I’ve gotten pregnant from this? What-“

Longs arms circled him, embracing him tightly. “Quiet. We will work it out. We always do. Right now I need energy.” He gave a slight thrust of his hips in reminder.

“Bloody great...”

“I love you...” The words were mumbled into the hollow the Alpha had nuzzled into before.

John rolled his eyes. “...And that’s supposed to solve everything, is it? You showing sentiment? Saying the words?”

“Yes?” the Alpha said as if it was self-evident. Perhaps it was. “If the words are sincere...”

“I love you, too, you utter, fantastic berk,” John said, body relaxing and nuzzling his mate in return. Things would work themselves out somehow.

“Then everything is as it should be.”

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is the end of this, my first venture into the Omegaverse, Heat-induced sex and all. It's been a blast to write, all things considered, and all the response on this have only made the ride so much more fantastic. Thank you.
> 
> Someone suggested that I could write a sequel to this. I am still not sure whether I'd do it, but we'll see.
> 
> I do hope this has not turned out to be a let-down as a final chapter, but it's been the intention for it to go this way almost since the beginning.  
> Feedback is as always loved and treasured, but if you could keep the criticism constructive, that would be fantastic. Especially the sex-scene, it's only been my second time writing one.


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